FOREST  BUDS, 


THE   WOODS  OF  MAINE 


FLORENCE  PERCY.  .^/U^^  !t^( 


BOSTON: 

DROWN,   BAZIN   &   CO. 

PORTLAND: 

rilAHOIS      BLAKE. 

1856. 


^i^  i 

% 


Entered  accordine  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1856,  by 

LIZZIE  A.  C.  I'AYLOK, 
lu  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Massachusetts. 


Printed  by  Bazin  &  Cliondler, 
37  Cornbin,  Uoiton. 


TO    ALL    WHO    LOVE    ME. 

Yi  wh:>  >UT«  nubed  mc  lioee  I  cboM 

Th«  path  whieli  lead]  mc  ben  to-daj. 
Oft  like  >  child  who  M>7ing  goei. 

Tripping  mad  ftambliDg  on  th«  irmjr,  — 
T<  whoM  twe«t  wordi  of  lore  and  tnut 

n«Te  chaercd  m*  when  my  faith  wai  dim. 
Till  Bop*  roM  imiliog  from  the  doit 

Aad  taa(  anew  her  trinmph-bymn,  — 
And  J*  wboae  baoij   in  friecdrhip  tme 

Hire  nercr  yet  brea  elaipcd  in  mine,  — 
One  Boment,  while  I  bring  to  yon 

The  wreath  which  I  kare  dared  to  twine. 
No  garland  faint  with  rich  perfomes 

To  cloy  Ibo  oenM  and  charm  the  brain. 
Bat  timft*  bodi  and  baJf-iped  bloomj 

Bora  in  th*  ragged  woods  of  Maine. 

I  know  that  'mid  the  gorgeou  floweti 
Which  happier  handi  bare  colled  away 

Fna  Poety'i  enftanleil  bower*, 
Tb*  garland  which  I  bring  to-day 

b  bat  a  wreath  of  mgged  (tcaj 
Tied  with  a  few  iiaperfeet  btooas. 


■■fDolia'*  rich  |nih»e<. 


DEDICATION. 

I  fling  no  rare  exotics  down, 

Brotliors  and  sisters  at  your  feet. 
The  dandelion's  golden  crown. 

The  early  snow-drop,  low  and  sweet, 
The  buttercup  with  sultry  hue. 

The  wild-rose  sought  by  dainty  bees. 
Rich  clover-blooms  and  violets  blue, 

And  the  pink  snow  of  orchard-trees 
Are  here;  —  the  arbutus  that  hides 

Among  dead  leaves  and  sprouting  brakes. 
Sweet  nameless  flowers  from  river-sides 

And  lilies  from  our  northern  lakes. 

And  as  a   traveller  far  away 

From  northern  scenes  and  northern  loves. 
Grows  faint  with  breathing  day  by  day 

The  fragrant  breath  of  spicy  groves  — 
Grows  tired  of  blossoms  rich  and  bright. 

Such  as  ft  tropic  summer  knows. 
And  welcomes  with  a  deep  delight 

The  perfume  of  a  sweet  home-rose,  — 
Or  pained  by  the  bewildering  songs 

Of  eastern  birds  with  gorgeous  wings. 
Turns  wearily  away   and  longs 

To  hear  the  strain  our  robin  sings, 
Mayhap  some  hearts  will  turn  away 

From  songs  more  lofty  and  divine, 
And  tired  of  a  sublimcr  lay 

Will  listen  for  a  while  to  mine. 


C  0  N  T  !•;  N  T  S 


ADA 9 

MAY 13 

I    I.OVE    THEE, IC 

11 Y  THE    RIVEIS-SIDE, 17 

A    JCNE    SHOWER, 20 

DUOWXEH, 22 

THE    ANfiEL    OF  PATIENCE, 24 

THE    FOREST 20 

THE    SnilNr,    BY    THE    cnERHY    TREE, 34 

FLOWN 37 

THE    ANSWERED  TRAYER, 39 

WINTER, 41 

FROST  PICTURES, 41 

NO  MORE, 47 

THE  ilOrsEHOLD  SAINT, 48 

THIS    MORNING, 50 

TESTERDAT, 62 

THE    CHEERFUL    HEART, 54 

NOVEMBER S7 


flouence's  birth-day, 58 

MARCH, Gl 

CLOVER-BLOSSOMS, G3 

TO     ONE    DEPARTED, 64 

TWO, CG 

TWENTY-ONE, 6S 

A    DRY    DITTY, 70 

THE    BENT    OF    THE    TWIG, 73 

THE    WHITE    DOVE, 74 

A    LULLABY, 77 

THY    BLESSING, 79 

THE    SUNKEN   ROCK, 81 

THE  UNBIDDEN    GUEST, 83 

TWENTY'-TWO, 85 

MAGIC    MIRRORS, 88 

THE  HAUNTED  RIVER, 89 

CHARMED, 93 

WHERE    CHARLIE    DIED, 94 

THE    MINSTREL, 96 

DANDELIONS, 99 

THE    HAND   IN   MINE, 100 

AGAIN, 102 

MY    WORLD, 104 

RESIGNATION, 108 

BETTER    THAN  BEAUTY, Ill 

SEVENTEEN, 113 

"THE    GOOD    TIME    COMING," 115 

ALLIE, 116 


ONE    NIGHT, 118 

"TRUK    LOVE    CAN    NE'ER    KORUET," 121 

TO    MV    XAlIi:SAKF.. 123 

TO    A    SINGER, 124 

TO    ONE    OF    I.ITTLE    FAITH, 126 

TWICE-TOI.I) 127 

A  PORTRAIT 128 

MT    WIFE    AXD    CIIILP, 129 

RE-INITED, 132 

TO-DAT 136 

niPARTIALITT 137 

BOTH    SIDES    OF    THE    (JLESTION, 139 

THE    LIVING, Ill 

LET  ME    IN 143 

TO    AN     IDEAL, 145 

OK    ONE    BELOVED, 147 

ALMOST    AN    ANGEL, 149 

THE    BROKEN    HOME, 150 

THE    PANTRY, 153 

MT    NAMh:, 155 

TOU   AND  ME 157 

OUR  AUTCMX, 1  CO 

M V  BABIES, 1  62 

A    nUACE    OK  SONNETS 165 

EVELYN 167 

THE  AWAKENING, 172 

IN    VAIN, 174 

STREET  MUSIC 177 


THE    APRIL    BEEEZE, 178 

PICTURES  OF   MEMORY, 18<l 

LOST  AND  SAVED, 182 

TO    ONE    INSPIRED, 18o 

OVER   THE   WAT, 187 

FEBRUARY, 189 

TRUE  LOVE  CAN  FORGET, 192 

TOO    LATE, 194 

DESTINED, 200 

THE  DESERT    FOUNTAIN, 202 

TO   ONE    DYING, 20d 

TRUTH    AND    POETRY, 207 


ADA. 

IIer:<  is  one  of  those  sweet  faces 
Miule  to  lifrht  earth's  tlarkest  phices, — 
Wherein    chil(lhoo<l's    [jhijfiil    aix-hness   hrightons    earnest 
thought's  rejKJse.  — 
She  is  fairer,  purer,  sweeter. 
Than  when  woman's  years  siiall  greet  lier. 
Flveii  as  is  the  bud  unblossomed  sweeter  tiian  the  ri|)enc(l 
rose. 

There  is  no  voluptuous  splendor 

In  her  face  so  pure,  so  tender. — 
Xaujrht   of  inid-suminer   perfection.  —  'tis  tlie   jiromisc  of 
young  .June, — 

Naught  of  womanliootl's  completeness, — 

Hut  im  innocence,  a  sweetness 
Dearer  far.  as  is  the  moniing  lovelier  than  the  perfect  noon. 


10 


Less  an  angel,  —  more  a  woman,  — 
Less  etherial  and  more  human 
Will  she  be  when  five  more  Aprils  shall  have  biownel 
each  sunny  curl,  — 
She  will  seem  another  creature, 
Ciianged  in  heart  and  hope  and  feature, 
Wlien   the   womaiis  cares  and  trials  ih-own  the  visions  of 
the  girl. 

Lapsed  in  bright  and  gorgeous  dreaming 

With  romance's  rose-rays  gleaming. 
Yet  she  makes  a  gentle  effort  to  awaken  from  its  power, 

Conscious  of  a  sphere  of  being 

Just  beyond  her  tinted  seeing. 
Like  a  bee  at  morning  drowsing  in  a  yet  unopened  ilower. 

And  she  looks  with  childish  wonder 
Towai-d  the  misty  realm  beyond  her. 
Where  are  cares  and  strifes  and  discords,  —  toil  for  heart 
and  hand  and  brain,  — 
But  she  hearkens  all  unfearing 
Like  a  young  bird  faintly  hearing 
From  beneath  its  mother's  pinions,  the  rude  rusliing  of  ihe 
rain. 

Time  will  be  no  partial  preacher,  — 
Good  and  evil  lie  will  teach  her  — 
Hopes  and  fears  will  till  her  bosom, — joys  and  griefs  will 
try  their  power. 


Hut  the  iniiofCiicy  tcmler 
Haloing  liiT  brow  witli  splendor. 
Will  «lopart,  lu  Joes  the  rain-drop  from  the  forehead  of  a 
flower. 

As  a  woman  she  is  fated,  — 
She  will  be  adored,  and  hated, — 
Know  all  depths  of  joy  and  sorrow, —  see  glad  days  and 
gloomy  years  ;  — 
And  her  path  that  now  lies  glowing 
Through  green  vales,  —  by  streams  sweet  flowing, 
\Vill  wind  sadly  ihi-ough  dark  places,  where  the  ground  is 
wet  with  tears. 

All,  the  "evil  days"  are  nearing. 
When  her  day-tlreams  disappearing, 
She  will  wake  to  mouni  the  absence  of  this  freshness,  joy, 
and  ti-uth, 
.\nil  her  spirit  baekward  turning 
Will  be  vaguely,  vainly  yearning 
For  the  tender  light  and  gladness  of  the  Morning  Laml  of 
youth. 

Ah,  that  woman's  gladdest  laughter 
H:is  a  mournful  echo  after! 
Ah.   that   time   should   sow   wild  discord  'mid  her  hearts 
resounding  stringi ! 


All,  that  wealth  and  pride  and  power 
Should  eclipse  lo\-e's  holj-  dower, — 
Thai    earth's  soiling   dust   should    gather   on    her  spirit's 
snowy  wings! 

Stay  awhile,  oh,  dawning  maiden  ! 
Coming  time  with  change  is  laden,  — 
Linger  yet  upon  the   threshold  of  thy  womanhood's   do- 
main ;  — 
For  as  years  around  thee  cluster. 
Though  they  bring  thee  added  lustre. 
They  will  take  a  bloom,  a  freshness,  that  will  never  come 
again ! 


M  A  Y . 

TiiK  linfrprinji  hours  of  the  winter 
IIiivp  dni{r?p<l  themselves  wearily  I>y, 

Anil  my  spirit  sprinprs  up,  like  ;\  wiW-Iiird, 
To  the  lii-.-t  suniiner-bhie  of  the  <ky. 

Tiie  il:\rk  forests  stjind  in  the  sunshine 
Like  armies  on  mountain  and  plain, 

And  o'er  their  hrown  mnks,  the  sweet  spriup-t 
riifurls  her  p-een  banner  again. 

Siuee  the  lirst  niddy  blush  of  the  niornin<» 

Hroke  over  the  hill-tops  afar, 
Till  now.  when  the  dim  earth  is  sleepin*; 

In  the  light  of  the  evening  star. 

I  have  wandered  alone  through  the  forest. 

To  listen  its  niumiuring  song, 
And  wateh  the  young  leaf-buds  awaking 

From  their  slumbers  so  dreamless  and  long. 


But  mctliought  it  seemed  cheerless  and  drcaiy 
Till,  brushing  the  dead  leaves  apart, 

I  found  tlie  sweet  May-flo^ycrs  springing 
Like  liope  in  a  de.-olate  heart. 

I  sat,  as  of  old,  by  the  brook-side, 

Where  clouds  of  blue  violets  lie 
In  beauty  along  the  green  hollows, 

Like  fragments  di'opt  down  from  the  sky,  — 

But  my  heart  was  o'erburdened  with  sadness. 
For  I  missed  the  dear  hand  that  of  yore 

I  clasped  in  my  own  as  I  wandered,  — 
Alas,  I  siiall  clasp  it  no  more  I 

Tiiere  was  one  to  the  charm  of  whose  jjresence 

My  spirit  adoringly  bowed. 
And  the  light  of  her  love  shone  around  me, 

Like  sunshine  encircling  a  cloud. 

Wiien  Last  the  sweet  season  of  JLay-time 
"Was  mingling  its  smiles  with  its  showers, 

I  wandered  with  her  in  the  woodland. 
And  Inintod  with  her  for  tlie  flowers. 

Oil,  her  step  was  as  liglit  as  the  dew-fall, 
And  her  voice  like  a  bird's  in  the  skies. 

And  the  light  of  a  glad  loving  spirit 
Shone  soft  in  her  sunnv  brown  eves. 


Tlie  (li'ad  loiivcs  lie  ilain|)  in  tlio  giavc-vanl 
WlitTf  sadly  hist  autumn  they  fell, 

Ami  under  them  sleeps,  oh,  how  sweetly. 
The  dear  one  who  loved  me  so  well. 

For  sinee  the  last  summer-time's  flowei-s 
Grew  pale  at  the  kiss  of  the  frost, 

She  has  sung  the  sweet  songs  of  the  angels. 
And  I,  —  I  have  mourned  her  as  lost. 

And  now,  when  I  thread  the  dark  wood-paths, 
AVhieh  once  she  delighted  to  trace. 

My  heart  sinks  down  heavy  and  voiceless. 
For  I  meet  not  her  beautiful  face. 

But  though  my  dim  eyes  sec  not  clearly. 

Yet  oft  o'er  my  sorrow  is  thrown 
The  bliss  of  her  glorified  presence, 

jVnd  I  feel  that  I  am  not  alone. 


I    LOVF,    THEE. 
I  i..,vi-,  tli.-c! 

Not  fill'  flij'  ;,'loi'i<)iH  fyi-'^  iiiirivallcrl   liri^^litilfss, — 

Not  for  tli(:  (»(!nil(;  f^rncc!  tliy  f'ralurfM  wear, 
Not  Cor  lliy  ninrl)l<!  Iirow'rf  nnriiillicd  wliitcnps!", 

Not  for  till!  shining  ripples  of  lliy  luiir, — 
Not  for  lliy  lip.M,  like  ro.4e)iiiil.s  half  iiiitolded, 

Not  for  tliy  flute-like  voiee'.s  silver  tone, 
Not  for  lliy  romided  fomi,  in  beauty  moulded, — 

Nay,  not  for  these  I  love  thee,  dearest  one! 

For  (lie  wMi'Mi  love-liKlii  in  tliy  dark  eye  xhiniiig. 

For  the  sirauKe  charm  that  makes  thy  jiresence  lili.-- 
For  thy  pure  soul,  n  lofty  faith  enshrininf;, 

For  thy  tnie  heart  of  tnistin^  tenderness, — 
For  thy  kind  words,  whieli  eheer  the  stricken-hearted. 

For  thy  bri(;lit  smile,  the  same  through  good  and  ill, 
For  the  low  prayer  that  blessed  me  when  we  jiarted. 

For  the  sweet  hojie  that  glads  my  spirit  still, 
I  love  thee ! 


BY    THE    RIVER-SIDE. 

l)(i\vs  by  the  river-siik'  #iit  I  nloiio. 
Ilcariii;!  the  waters'  low  musical  moan, 
Waiting  the  while  lor  a  tarniiig  hoat, — 
Hark,  to  the  iiuiriiier's  echoing  note! 

Fair  was  the  lioatnian  as  eye  may  beholil. 
How  the  breeze  lifted  his  tresses  of  jroUl  I 
While  o'er  his  shoiiMers  so  dimpled  and  white 
Lay  his  soft  wings,  half  unfolded  for  flight. 

.Smoothly  the  shining  waves  bore  him  along. 
Anil,  at  eaeh  pause  in  his  m.igieal  song. 
Lightly  he  leaned  from  the  boat's  dijiping  side, 
Pulling  the  lilies  afloat  on  the  tide. 

•  lazing  I  sloo<l  on  the  wave-beaten  shor<', 
Counting  by  heart-throbs  the  sweeps  of  his  oar, 
.Murmuring.  "  Boatman,  come  hither  to  me, 
1  woidd  float  over  the  waters  with  thee!" 


BY    THE    RIVER-SIDli. 

Upright  he  sprang  a?  he  heard  mj  low  caU, 
Quickly  the  buds  from  his  fingers  let  fall, 
And  with  a  motion  obedient  and  fleet. 
Softly  the  boat  glided  up  to  my  feet. 

Lightly  I  swung  from  an  o'er-swceping  vine, 
Half-clasped  the  fingers  extended  to  mine, 
AVhen  with  light  laughter,  eluding  my  hand. 
Pushed  he  the  shallop  away  from  the  land. 

And,  with  a  sweep  of  the  fairy-like  oar. 
Floated  away  by  the  opposite  shore,  — 
While  Ills  sweet  voice  floated  back  on  the  v.-ind. 
'•  Have  ye  heard  never  the  boatman  is  blind  ?  '' 

Down  the  bright  stream,  like  a  vision  of  light. 
Glided  the  boatman  with  wings  gleaming  white. 
And  a?  away  sped  the  fair  little  craft, 
Ileanl  ye  how  gaily  the  mariner  laughed? 

Lonely  and  sad  on  the  shore  I  sat  down, 
Twisting  the  willow  leaves  into  a  crown, 
Catching  at  times  the  sweet  chorus  of  joy 
Borne  from  the  lips  of  the  beautiful  boy. 

Thus  do  I  wait  on  life's  wave-beaten  beach, 
Longing  for  blessings  I  never  may  reach,  — 
Seeing  all  gladsome  and  beautiful  things    . 
Pass  from  mv  gaze,  like  the  gleam  of  his  wings. 


UY    THK    KIVKU-SIDK. 

V;iiiislK-d  lort'vor!  yet  deep  in  my  licarl 
Still  of  Ills  prcst'iiec  thei-c  lingers  u  \nir\, 
For  as  his  bark  idly  floated  along, 
Learned  I  the  notes  of  his  wildering  song. 

Pass  on,  bright  visions,  and  vanish  from  sight. 
Tearless  I  gaze,  for  I  mourn  not  your  flight,  — 
Though  on  the  shore  I  wait  lonely  and  long. 
If  1  may  eheat  the  dull  moments  with  song  I 


A    JUNE    SHOWER. 

How  this  delicious  rain 
Brings  up  the  flowers !     One  might  ahuost  say 
It  I'ains  down  blossoms, —  for  wliere  yesterday 

I  sought  for  them  in  vaui. 
They  lie  by  thousands  oa  the  wet  green  earth, 
Rejoicing  in  the  freslmess  of  their  birth. 

No  liarsh  or  jarring  sound 
Breaks  tlie  refreshing  stillness  of  tlie  liour,  — 
The  tinkling  foot-falls  of  the  passing  shower 

Patter  along  the  ground,  — 
The  swallows  twitter  gladly  from  the  eaves, 
And  the  sniall  rain  talks  softly  to  the  leaves. 

Bloom-laden  lUac  trees, 
Their  purple  glories  dripping  with  the  rain, 
Shake  off  the  drops  in  odorous  showers  again,  — 

And  the  small  fragrances 
Of  cherry-blossoms,  and  of  violets  blue, 
Come  balmily  the  open  window  througli. 


A    .11  Ni:    SIIOWIK. 

Willi  i.lIy-tol.Ud  lianils 
TIk'  furiniT  sits  witliin  liis  cottagi'  iloor, 
AValc-liiii'^  tilt'  bli'ssings  whioli  the  iiiU  clouds  jiour 

Upon  Ills  thii-sty  litiids, — 
Where  written  pi-omise  l>y  his  eye  is  seen 
In  visible  ehanietei-s  of  living  green. 

I'liyokeil  the  oxen  stand. 
The  cool  rjiin  plashing  on  tlieir  heaving  sides, 
And  with  wide  nostrils  breathe  the  fragrant  tides 

Of  breezes  flowing  bland, — 
Then  as  thongh  sated  with  the  odor  sweet, 
C'l-op  the  new  gross  that  springs  beneath  their  feet. 

Sweet  is  the  gladsome  song 
Which  the  yonng  birds  sing  in  the  summer  time. 
The  wind's  soft  voice,  the  river's  wavy  chime 

Flowing  in  joy  along,  — 
But  dearer  far  to  me  the  pleasant  tune 
Sung  by  the  rain-drops  in  the  month  of  June. 


DROWNED. 

Pale  and  ilrooping  as  a  bruised  lily 
Lies  he  'mid  the  river-grasses  chilly, 
Like  a  fragile  zephyr-wafted  blossom 
Rocked  to  rest  upon  the  river's  bosom. 

Raise  him  gently  from  the  tangled  rushes  ; 
No  soft  life-glow  now  his  pale  face  flushes, 
And  his  lip's  warm  hue  is  quenched  forever, 
By  the  envious  kisses  of  the  river. 

Part  the  wet  curls  from  his  marble  forehead, 
AVhich  so  soon  death's  icy  cluU  hath  borrowed, 
Let  the  little  hands,  so  smoothly  moulded. 
Softly  on  the  quiet  breast  be  folded. 

Press  the  waxen  lids  serenely  over 
Tlie  blue  orbs  they  seem  so  loth  to  cover,  — 
Lay  siround  the  fair  face,  cold  and  pearly, 
Fragile  buds,  and  blooms  that  perish  early. 


UKOWNKD. 

l,ct  111)  tciir-ili-ops  oil  your  hislics  glisten, — 
With  faith's  sternly  strength  look  up  luul  listen  ; 
Hear  ye  not  the  songs  of  the  iniinortal.s 
AVelcoiniiig  his  soul  to  glory's  i)ortal>? 

With  soft  steps  and  hearts  subilued  ami  lowly, 
Leave  him  to  his  slumbers  pure  and  holy, 
Weep  not  over  heart-strings  eriished  and  riven, 
Mourn  not  for  a  soul  down  home  to  heaven  ! 


THE    ANGEL    OF    PATIENCE. 

Beside  tlie  toilsome  way 
Lonely  and  dark,  by  fruits  and  flowers  unblest, 
Which  my  worn  feet  tread  sadly,  day  by  day, 

Longing  in  vain  for  rest. 

An  angel  softly  walks, 
With  pale  sweet  face,  and  eyes  cast  meekly  down, 
The  while  from  withered  leaves  and  flowerless  stalks 

She  weaves  my  fitting  crown. 

A  sweet  and  patient  grace, 
A  look  of  firm  einlnrancc.  tiiu;  and  tried. 
Of  suffermg  nu-clJv  Ir.ini''.  iisls  on  her  face 

So  pure  —  ^o  glnrilieil. 

And  when  my  fiiinting  heart 
Desponds  and  murmurs  at  its  adverse  fate. 
Then  quietly  the  angel's  bright  lips  part, 

Murmurinsc  softlv,  '•  Wait ! 


TIIK    AXOKL    or    KATIKXCE.  2.) 

'  Patience  ! '  she  sweetly  saitli,  — 
Tlic  Fatlier's  mercies  never  come  too  late  ; 
(lird  tliee  with  patient  strength  and  trustinj;  faith. 

And  firm  endurance,  —  wait!" 

Anffel !  hehold,  I  wait, 
Wearing;  the  thorny  crown  through  all  life's  hours,  — 
Wait  till  thy  hand  shall  ope  the  eternal  pate, 

And  chaiiTC  the  thom?  to  flowers  ! 


THE    FOREST. 

In  my  childhood's  April  days, 

Ere  I  learned  life's  deeper  meaning,  - 
AVhen  I  walked  in  pleasant  ways, 

Flowers  amid  the  brambles  gleaning,- 
AVhile  unspoiled  by  frost  or  blight 

"Was  my  heart's  unshadowed  centre, 
And  its  fulness  of  delight 

Left  no  room  for  grief  to  enter, — 
When  earth  seemed  a  blissful  clime, 

Full  of  joy  and  pleasant  duty, 
And  my  pulse  was  beating  time 

To  the  songs  of  love  and  beauty, — 
Fanciful  —  companionle^s, 

Heart  and  brain  with  visions  teeming 
Solitude  and  loneliness 

Taught  to  me  the  art  of  dreaming. 

Many  a  bright  imagining. 
Many  a  fair  prophetic  vision 

Came  on  fancy's  tireless  wing. 
Clad  in  hues  almost  elysian. 


THE   FOUEST. 

And  my  favorite  drcaming-plaoc 

AVas  an  old  and  shadowy  forest ; — 
Oh,  how  oft  in  later  days, 

When  my  heart  is  throbbing  sorest. 
And  life's  burning  desert-sand 

Painfully  my  won>  feet  parches, 
Think  I  of  that  faii-j-  land. 

With  its  cool  and  winding  arches, 
In  the  deep  and  fragrant  shade 

All  unbrokenly  enfolden. 
Save  when  sportive  winds  which  played 

'  Jlid  the  forest  nionarchs  olden, 
Did  the  yielding  branches  woo 

To  and  fro  with  gentle  power. 
And  the  sun-rays  drifted  through 

In  a  diuzling  golden  shower. 

Seldom  by  a  human  sound 

Was  the  wood's  deep  quiet  broken, 
And  the  solitude  profound 

Gave  of  human  life  no  token. 
Nature,  sabbath-like  and  calm 

Smiling  at  her  own  eompletenes.«, 
Breathing  quietude  and  balm, 

Sleeping  in  a  trance  of  sweetness, 
Did  a  mystic  charm  impart 

To  the  dim  and  shadowy  pleasance. 
Seeming  to  my  childish  lieart 

Like  a  high  majestic  presence. 


THE   FOREST. 

Very  lovely  was  the  wood 

At  the  summer's  early  coming, 
Wlien  the  breathing  solitude 

Was  one  sweet  and  ceaseless  humming;  — 
Then  the  maples,  gnarled  and  old. 

Veiled  in  moss,  like  ancient  castles, 
Did  their  rugged  limbs  enfold 

In  a  robe  of  crimson  tassels  ;  — 
Then  a  warmer,  sunnier  hue 

INIingled  with  the  pine's  dark  fringes, 
And  the  green  buds  melted  through 

The  dark  hemlock's  sombre  tinges ; 
Then  the  willow's  bending  stems 

Were  with  downy  blossoms  sprinkled, 
And  the  winter-green's  bright  gems 

In  the  bright  leaves  smiled  and  twinkled ; 
Then  the  snow-drop  sought  to  hide, 

■WTience  the  winds  their  fragrance  borrowed. 
Like  a  young  and  bashful  bride 

With  bright  dew-pearls  on  her  forehead  ; 
And  the  timid  violet 

Sprang  amid  the  mosses  tender. 
With  its  cup  all  dewy  wet 

Drooping  on  its  stem  so  slender, — 
Like  a  heart  bereft  of  cheer, 

O'er  some  hidden  sorrow  pLaing, 
Smiling,  even  while  a  tear 

In  its  veiled  depths  enshrining. 


THE    FOREST. 

Binls  tliore  were,  a  eoiintless  throng 

Making  in  the  w(kh1  their  d\vellin>.', 
Breaicing  into  fitrul  song 

Tales  of  love  jvnd  gladness  telling  ; 
There  the  joyous  wood-lark  sprung 

From  his  nest,  at  morning's  l)reaking. 
Drops  of  dew,  like  pearls  luistrung, 

From  his  trembling  pinions  shaking. 
And  amid  the  bireh-trce  toi)s 

Swinging,  warbled,  all  a-quiver. 
Notes  like  ringing  shower-droijs 

On  the  bosom  of  a  river ; 
Then  the  cuekoo  timidly 

Hidden  in  some  lofty  hollow, 
Wove  its  sweet  monotony 

With  the  ehirjiing  of  the  swallow, — 
And  the  bright-winged  goldfinch  came 

Darting  from  the  reedy  meadows, 
Glancing  like  a  jet  of  fliime. 

In  and  out  among  the  shadows, — 
An<l  the  robin's  merry  song 

Loud  and  mellow  and  sonorous, 
Echix-d  cheerily  along 

Mingling  with  the  general  cliorus, — 
With  a  throng  of  nameless  birds. 

Whose  brief  songs,  abruptly  ending. 
Came  like  sweetly  spoken  wonls 

In  the  pauses  soflly  blending. 


THE    FOREST. 

Aii'l  when  morning  woke  tlie  earth 

From  its  dim  and  quiet  sleeping, 
Tlien  a  strain  of  joy  and  mirth 

From  the  wood  went  upward  sweeping. 
Scores  of  birds,  the  trees  among, 

'\Vhere  the  sun's  first  ray  was  burning, 
Bursting  into  happy  song, 

"Welcoming  the  day's  returning. 
Kept  the  echoes  ringing  round, 

In  a  dance  of  tinkling  changes. 
As  a  wind-harp's  varying  sound 

O'er  the  diapason  ranges. 

When  the  autumn's  veil  of  mist, 

O'er  the  earth  was  wide  enfolden. 
And  the  subtle  alchemist 

Changed  the  emerald  leaves  to  golden. - 
Then  before  the  raptured  eye 

Shone  a  scene  of  wondrous  splendor, 
Matching  even  the  rainbow's  dye 

"With  its  hues  so  rich  and  tender ;  — 
Though  the  damtiest  blossoms  drooped 

At  the  autumn's  chiU  advancing. 
Still  amid  the  dark  leaves  gi-ouped 

"Were  the  clustered  berries  glancing,  — 
And  the  rugged  autumn  flowers 

"With  their  cheerful  hardy  faces. 
Came  like  smiles  in  lonely  hours. 

Lighting  up  the  gloomiest  places. 


Tilt    FOREST. 

Often  in  the  nutumn  eves 

To  tlie  wood  my  footsteps  wundtiol. 
And  amid  tlie  falling  leaves 

Silent,  sat  I  down  and  pondered 
With  a  kind  of  childish  awe 

On  the  beauty  round  me  beaming. 
Till  the  night  began  to  draw 

Iler  dark  curtains  round  my  dreaming; 
Or  where  danced  the  brook  along 

AV'ith  a  sound  like  childish  laugliter. 
With  an  answering  laugh  and  song, 

I  went  gJiily  dancing  after ; 
Pausing  ofl  ujion  its  brink. 

Where  the  wild  grapes  gleamed  most  bri 
And  pale  asters  knelt  to  drink, 

Kissing  the  cool  waters  lightly,  — 
Weaving  garlands  long  and  bright 

Of  tlie  leaves  around  me  straying. 
Or  in  childhood's  gay  delight 

With  the  shining  pebbles  playing. 

Glimpses  of  the  days  to  be, 

Dreams  of  happiness  and  glorj- 
Wove  their  bright  spells  over  me 

In  that  forest  wild  and  hoary  ;  — 
And  the  sad  mysterious  sound 

AVhich  the  wind  was  ever  making 
'  Mid  the  swaying  boughs  around 

Mournful  echoings  awaking, 


i 


I 


:i:  jgTE-  -jg 


THE  SPRING  BY  THE  CHERRY  TREE. 

I  LOVE  to  dream  of  the  pleasant  dell 

"Where  my  childhood's  gladsome  hours  were  spent, 
That  flowery  nook  recalled  so  well 

"With  childish  thoughts  so  deeply  blent,  — 
The  beautiful  stream  I  used  to  love, 

"Where  the  waters  gushed  so  cool  and  clear,  — 
The  shaded  glen  in  the  aspen  grove. 

To  gentle  memoiy  still  more  dear,  — 
Yet,  musing  dreamily,  I  think 

The  happiest  hours  of  life  to  me. 
"Were  spent  by  the  bright  and  mossy  brink 

Of  the  crystal  spring  by  the  cherry  tree. 

Aside  from  the  smoothly  trodden  way 

That  I  bounded  o'er,  on  my  way  to  school. 

A  deep,  dark,  forest-like  dingle  lay, 
Silent  and  shadowy  and  cool,  — 

And  there  in  a  dell  like  an  emerald  cup. 
A  vine-hung,  blossora-scented  nook. 


THE    SPRIXO    RY    THE    CHKI5KY    TREE.  .50 

A  beautiful  si>ring  gushed  purely  uj). 

The  source  of  a  menily  hiughing  brook ;  — 

A  gnarled  old  cherry-tree's  heavy  bough 

Drooped  o'er  it  with  leaves  of  shining  green,  — 

Methinks  I  can  almost  see  them  now, 

With  the  sunbeams  sifting  down  between ! 

'Twas  there  I  gathered  the  eglantine. 

Its  fragrance  flooding  the  heavy  air. 
And  the  delicate  stems  of  the  celandine. 

With  its  gem-like  flowers  so  brightly  fiiir ;  — 
And  playfully  shook  from  the  honied  cells. 

The  drowsy  bees  which  were  humming  there. 
Then  weaving  in  wreaths  the  golden  bells 

Laughingly  twisted  them  in  my  hair; 
And  there  the  beautiful  violets  grew. 

With  fnignint  breath  and  varjing  dyes,  — 
How  fondly  I  likened  their  gentle  blue 

To  the  hue  of  my  mother's  loving  eyes ! 

Ah.  often  I've  stootl  by  that  cool,  deep  spring 

Till  my  bare  feet  sunk  in  the  yielding  moss. 
And  watched  on  the  surface,  the  glimmering 

( )f  the  broken  light  as  it  flashed  across ;  — 
Or  gazed  far  down  to  the  circling  rocks. 

Where  the  sparkling  pebbles  would  glance  and  shine. 
And  a  glad  face  shaded  by  golden  locks, 

Was  rogiiishly  jR-eping  up  at  mine,  — 


THE    SPRING    BY    THE    CHERRY    TREE. 

( )h,  I  almost  doubt,  as  I  sadly  trace 

The  changes  which  time  has  wrought  in  me. 

That  mine  is  the  same  bright  happy  face 
That  shone  in  the  spring  by  the  chcrry-trcc  I 

For  now  could  I  gaze,  as  in  days  of  yore, 

III  the  answering  depths  of  that  limpid  wave, 
Ahis !  it  would  give  me  back  no  more 

The  pleasant  picture  that  then  it  gave  ;  — 
The  fearless  gladness  that  childhood  wears 

Would  shine  no  more  on  the  sunny  brow, 
For  the  cares  and  sorrows  of  darker  years 

Have  shadowed  its  careless  brightness  now : 
And  never  again  will  my  mirrored  face 

Beam  half  so  brightly  and  joyously, 
As  the  laughing  one  I  was  wont  to  trace 

In  the  crystal  spring  by  the  cherry-tree  ! 


FLOWN. 

A  iiKAiTiFrL  binllinfT  iiiaclo  its  nest 

In  my  tliirk  ami  lonely  heart. 
And  I  tonilly  elierished  my  welcome  <ruest. 
Ami  jiniyed  with  a  jrnileful  soul,  and  blest, 
'riiat  always  thus  it  mi<:ht  sweetly  rest. 

And  never  mi>re  depart. 

I  gazed  ill  the  soft  bewililering  deeps 

Of  its  young  unshadowed  eyes,  — 
They  were  calm  as  the  wave  where  a  sunbciun  sleeps, 
They  were  pure  as  the  dew  that  the  lily  weeps. 
And  bright  as  the  brightest  star  which  keeps 
Its  wateh  in  tiie  midnight  skies. 

Its  gushing  voice  was  as  sweet  and  clear 

As  the  lays  of  seraphs  blest  :  — 
In  meloily  on  my  raptured  ear 
It  fell,  like  songs  from  a  holier  sphere. 
With  a  wondnnis  power  to  soothe  and  cheer 

My  spirit's  wild  unrest. 


38 


And  I  watched  above  it  with  fond  delight, 

Till  once  on  a  quiet  even, 
It  spread  its   beautiful  wings  in  flight 
And  floated  away  from  my  longing  sight. 
Slow  melting  into  the  distance  bright 

Like  a  star  in  the  morning  heaven. 

From  the  first  sweet  song  of  the  early  lark, 

Till  now,  when  on  hill  and  plain. 
The  shadows  of  night  foil  dim  and  dark, 
I  liave  waited,  its  homeward  flight  to  mark, 
But  the  dove  gone  forth  from  my  heart's  lone  ark, 
Returneth  not  again. 

And  now  I  listen,  alas,  in  vain, 

Through  the  sad  and  cheerless  hours. 
For  the  cleiir  wild  notes  of  its  gushing  strain 
To  fall  on  my  waiting  ear  again. 
As  the  grateful  drops  of  the  summer  rain 

On  the  faint  and  di-ooping  flowers. 

No  longer  it  gladdens  my  weai-y  breast, 

As  in  happy  days  of  yore. 
Or  soothes  my  soul  to  a  quiet  rest 
With  its  thrilling  music,  so  sweet  and  blest,  — 
For  the  bird  gone  forth  from  my  jieart's  warm  nest. 

Returns,  alas,  no  more ! 


THE    ANSWERED    PRAYER. 

A  srviDKN  kiu'lt  in  Iut  chanibtM- 

At  the  quiet  close  of  day, 
And  pnijed  for  her  absent  lover 

On  the  dark  blue  sea  away. 

She  prayed  for  his  safe  returning, 

So  vainly  looked  for  yet,  — 
•  (Jh,  grant,"  she  said,  *•  I  may  meet  him 
Ers  the  morrow's  sun  shall  set ! " 

The  stormy  night  shut  darkly 

Afar  o'er  the  raging  sea, 
Where  the  bark  of  the  absent  lover 

Lay  drifting  hopelessly. 

Tlip  angrily  dashing  billows 

Called  loudly  to  the  sky, 
And  the  wind-god,  fiercely  raving, 

Howled  back  a  harsh  reply. 


TUE    ANSWERED    PRAYER. 

And,  bravest  of  all  the  seamen. 

"Was  seen  that  lover's  form, 
Till  the  wrecked  dismantled  vessel 

Went  do-svn  in  the  raging  storm. 

The  maiden  stirred  in  her  slumbers, 
And  whispered  murmuringlj-, 

"While  a  smile  passed  over  her  features 
"  Dearest,  I  come  to  thee  !  " 

The  beams  of  the  rising  morning 
O'er  the  tranquil  ocean  swept, 

But  deep  in  its  quiet  bosom 
The  pale-browed  lover  slept. 

At  the  maiden's  vine-wreathed  lattice 

Came  in  the  rosy  light. 
But  it  fell  on  a  pulseless  bosom, 

And  a  face  aU  still  and  white. 

AVlij-  lieth  the  gentle  maiden 

So  silently  cold  and  fair? 
The  Father,  in  love  and  mercy. 

Hath  granted  her  evening  prayer ! 


WINTER. 

'  T  IS  the  brifrlit  and  joyous  scai^on. 

Ever  fraught  with  glee  and  mirth. 
Bringing  happiness  and  plenty 
To  the  glad  and  grateful  earth. 
And  a  ring  of  loving  faces  round  the  warm  and  sparkling 
hearth. 

And  the  long  bright  winter  evening 

Passes  merrily  away, 
■\\niile  the  quaint  and  varying  shadows 
On  the  ceiling  dance  and  jtlay. 
And  e.ich  radiant  face  grows  brighter  in  the  fire-light's  rosy 
ray- 
But  my  heart  hath  known  no  gladness 

Since  the  autumn's  breezy  hours, 
■\Vith  their  chill  resistless  breathing, 

Swe])t  the  bloom  fi-oni  summer's  bowers. 
And  the  frost  a.s  coldly  g-athered  on  my  heart  as  on  the 
flowers. 


For  my  spirit  sadly  muses 

On  the  loved  and  early  lost, 
On  the  many  hopes  and  wishes 
By  despair  all  coldly  crossed, 
N'anislicd  now,  alas !  forever,  —  nipt  like   blossoms  in   a 
frost ! 

And  the  shrine  where  first  and  freshest 
Were  my  wrecked  affections  strowii. 
Is  a  lone  deserted  grave-yard, 

Where,  when  autumn  leaves  were  brown, 
S/ie.  the  star  of  my  existence,  from  my  heart  went  coldly 
down ! 

Griefs  that  Ijind  no  more  fier  spirit, 

Closely  still  my  own  enslave, — 
Wilder  storms  than  beat  above  her 
In  my  bosom  darkly  rave. 
And  the  chillinp;  snow-drifts  deepen  on  my  heart  as  on  her 
grave. 

For  alas !  the  flowcrless  summer 

Of  my  blighted  life  is  o'er. 
And  tliougli  spring  to  earth's  cold  bosom 
Will  the  bud  and  bloom  restore. 
Well  I  know  the   spring  will  brigliti'u  in   my  frozen  heart 
no  more. 


As  till'  lono  !in<l  wonrv  walclifr 

Counts  the  miiuitos'  lingoriiig  (liplit, 
With  a  patient,  hopeful  spirit 
AVaitiiif;  tor  tlie  tarryinp  light, 
Ciifulins  tlius  the  dreary  liours  of  the  long  anil  li 
night,— 

So  do  I  lotik  gladly  forward 

Thrt>ugh  the  davkne^s  of  my  \\.\y. 
To  when'  griefs  and  cares  and  trials 
All,  shall  vanish  in  the  ray 
Of  the  spirit's  heavenly  dawning,  —  of  the  soul's  ui 
day! 


FROST-PICTURES. 

The  fro>t-king  liatli  clad  the  forest 

In  a  garb  of  icy  mail, 
And  left  on  the  panes  of  the  windows, 

A  white  translucent  veil. 

Oh,  a  rare  and  radiant  pencil 
And  a  skilful  hand  hath  he. 

And  none  may  mock  or  rival 
His  magical  imagery. 

Come  hither  ye  sweet-voiced  prattlers, 
AVho  mourn  for  the  summer  lost,  — 

Come  hither  .and  see  what  beauties 
Are  born  of  the  winter's  frost. 

'  T  is  a  scene  in  the  northern  regions, 
"Where  through  the  lingering  night, 

The  mystical  borealis 

Is  lending  its  waving  light. 


KI!0*T-IMCTlRKS. 

WliiTe  thu  slcilge  ami  the  floot-paood  rciiulc 
OVr  the  glittering  snow-pallis  go, 

Ami  llie  bemling  boiiglis  of  the  lir-trecs 
Are  iieavy  with  clinging  snow. 

Where  the  woo<ls  thi>h  back  the  sunshine 
Fi-om  their  load  of  glistening  gems, 

And  clusters  of  glancing  crystals 

Depend  from  the  swaying  stem*. 

And  afar  in  the  frigid  distance. 

The  glaciers  crash  and  fall. 
And  ranks  of  towering  icebergs 

Form  a  strong  and  mivssivc  wall. 

But  the  waywanl  painter  wearied 

Of  his  first  imagining. 
And  bordeivd  his  wintry  landscape 

With  the  leaves  and  flowers  of  spring. 

Ahis,  for  the  radiant  picture 

80  truly  and  brightly  drawn. 

One  smile  of  the  winter  sunshine 
Hath  touched  it,  and  it  is  gone. 

As  fade,  in  our  after  being 

The  fancies  and  hopes  of  youth. 

Or  as  vanish  the  shades  of  error 
In  the  dawning  light  of  truth. 


FROST-PICTURES. 

Xo  trace  of  the  beauteous  picture 
On  the  weeping  pane  appears, 

But  mountain  and  plain  and  forest 
Have  melted  in  lucid  tears. 

Tims  ever  our  blissful  drcamings 
Of  the  bright  and  blessed  ideal, 

Are  scattered  in  tears  and  sadness 
By  the  stem,  remorseless  real ! 


NO    MORE. 

WiiF.x  life  has  sniloil  far  down  time's  diiikcning  stream, 
Anil  silvery  threiids  amid  brown  tivsses  gleam, 
'Tis  mournful  to  know  the  heart's  summer-time  o'er. 
Anil  that  never  a  blossom  will  bloom  in  it  more. 

Hul  't  is  sadder  to  know,  at  youth's  bright  morning  hour. 
Kre  the  sun-rays  have  kissed  the  fi-esh  dew  from  the  flowei' 
That  love,  hoiic  and  gladness  are  meaningless  wiirtN, 
And  that  life  mu.-'t  heneeforth  be  like  June  without  liinls 


TIE    HOrSEHOlB    SAI5T. 

Thoc  wiiee  sweet  presence  is  Trah  me  now, 

Tbon  whose  light  breathing  fims  mr  brow,  — 
A-g  drifts  niT  hearts's  di^namieii  ark 
O'er  Eft's  wide  ocean,  so  (Em  and  daai. 

Thou.  oh.  dum  art  the  whice-winged  dov* 

Bringing  die  oEreJeaTes  of  love  I 

Thine,  my  own,  is  the  only  eye 

ThiU  never  hath  looked  an  me  carelessly,  — 

Thine  are  die  only  Eps.  my  bird. 

"Which  have  given  me  never  an  onkind  ward. 
And  thine  is  the  only  heart,  whiti  stiH 
Loves  on.  Trnr-hnTttrintr,  diTouch  sood  and  in. 

JSever  upon  thy  beaming  &ce 

Has  passon  or  sorrow  le&  its  aace. 
Never  a  ^ladow  of  an  or  care 
Dimmed  tiie  Bghi  on  thy  forehead  fiiir. 

For  thou  art  as  pure  and  from  guile  as  free 

As  tjie  shJTiint  ones  who  wjiit  fisr  tbee ! 


Tms  HorsmoLD  sjubtt. 


TTUeikf  I 

Ottf  pts^eu  fioM  ay  fest  arise, 
WiMa  I  gaK  ki  tkr  holj  «T». 

Fraa  Ike  pccxMC  of  tratli  aid  pvkj. 


THIS    MORNING. 

Morning  comes,  and  with  rosy  fingers 
Pai-ting  her  misty  locks  away, 

Binds  them  back  with  a  golden  arrow, — 
Then  like  a  laughing  child  at  play. 

Waving  the  folds  of  her  radiant  garments, 
Sweeps  the  stars  from  the  path  of  day. 

Thou  of  the  broad  and  thoughtful  forehead. 

Over  the  calm  reflective  eyes, 
Shruiing  a  deep  unworldly  meaning 

Under  the  shadow  that  in  them  lies. 
Let  us  forget  life's  jar  and  discord. 

Listening  to  Nature's  harmonies. 

Let  us  go  where  the  bending  branches 
Closest,  coolest  together  press, 

"VMiere  the  leaves  with  their  loving  fingers 
Touch  my  forehead  in  mute  caress  — 

Come,  for  the  heart  that  loads  my  bosom 
Aches  with  its  heavy  emptiness. 


THIS    MOKNINH. 

Lightly  the  pUimes  of  cherry-blossoms 
Di^p  their  snow  as  we  wmuler  by, 

Sweetly  the  bright  waves  talk  together, 
Sweetly  the  willow  boughs  reply, 

Fringing  the  brink  of  the  smiling  river 
^Vs  laches  shadow  a  clear  blue  eye. 

Softly  the  elm's  low  drooping  tresses 

Swing  and  wave,  by  the  south-wind  stirred. 

Lightly  the  bireh-tree's  airy  branches 
Tremble  under  the  singing  bird; 

Sweetly  the  river's  dreamy  murmur 
Comes  like  an  oft-repeated  word. 

Weary  of  worldly  care  and  bustle. 

Oh,  I  deem  it  a  blessed  Iwon 
Thus  to  rest  where  the  rippling  water 

Singetli  ever  n  lulling  tune, 
While  with  its  soft  continuous  murmur 

Mingle  the  myriad  songs  of  dune. 


YESTERDAY. 

A.N  angel  passed  me  yesterday, 

With  snowy  wings  and  floating  liair. 

As  slowly  on  my  devious  way 
I  went,  in  darkness  and  despair. 

Strange  how  my  heait  could  be  so  cold 
"Wlien  that  sweet  angel-face  was  nigh ! 

I  might  have  caught  her  robe's  light  fold 
As  airly  it  floated  by,  — 

I  might  have  kissed  the  sun-bright  flow 
Of  curls  across  my  forehead  blown. 

Or  gazed  upon  the  haloed  brow 

Wliose  radiance  lighted  up  my  own. 

And  yet  I  stood  in  mute  surprise 
Till  all  the  vision  passed  away. 

Nor  once  upraised  my  dazzled  eyes, 
Isor  oped  my  lips  to  whisper,  "  Stay  ! " 


YK8TERDAY. 

Ami  slowly  ft-oni  my  misty  sight 
Did  the  sweet  visitant  depart, — 

The  angel-guest  whose  presence  might 
Have  re-illumed  my  darkened  heart. 

lUit  all,  its  mcniDry  liaunts  me  yil, — 

.  And  musing  I  can  only  say, 
With  starting  tears  of  vain  regret, 
••  An  angel  jia^sed  me  yestenlay  !  " 


THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

Some  deem  the  world  a  dreary  place, 

Devoid  of  all  redeeming  merits, 
But  oil,  it  wears  another  fiice 

To  cheerful  and  contented  spirits  ! 
Why  ever  dim  joy's  brightest  rays, 

By  gloomy  fears  of  coming  sorrows  ? 
I  always  cheat  the  cloudy  days 

With  hopeful  thoughts  of  hapi)ier  morrows. 

'T  is  true  that  '•  all  things  bright  must  fade  "  - 

That  autumn's  stern  resistless  powers, 
With  chilling  wind  and  freezmg  shade 

Will  blast  the  leaves  and  blight  the  flowers : 
For  the  departed  summer's  prime 

Let  other  hearts  be  vainly  )'eaniing. 
But  tlu-ough  the  snows  of  winter  time. 

I  gladly  watch  for  its  returning. 

'Tis  true  life's  sorrows  every  day 

Seem  almost  to  outweigh  its  pleasures. 

And  death  full  often  steals  away 

The  trusting  heart's  most  cherished  treasun 


THE    CUKKltFlI.    Ill:  ART. 

Let  olliors  niouri)  one  dear  one  less 
And  wildly  wocp  o'er  heart-strings  riven, 

1  cjiiiy  joy  that  I  possess 

Another  lovin";  friend  in  heaven!  — 

'T  is  true  the  friends  are  sadly  few 

On  whom  we  lean  with  tnist  unshaken. 
And  oft  o'er  those  we   faneied  true, 

Faith  sighs  to  find  herself  mistaken. 
1  yield  not  to  one  vain  regret, 

When  wayward  fate  hath  so  bereft  me. 
But  only  love  more  fondly  yet 

The  dear  ones  still  so  kindly  left  me. 

Thougli  hope  may  cease  to  sing  awhile. 

And  joy's  sweet  light  seem  slowly  paling, 
'  T  is  better  far  to  wear  a  smile. 

For  sighs  and  tears  are  unavailing. 
Let  other's  weep  that  bright  dreams  fade. 

And.  weekly  wearing  sorrow's  fetter. 
Forever  seek  life's  gloomiest  shade, — 

I   love  its  cheering  sunshine  better !  — 

What  though  my  lot  of  pain  and  toil 
Be  lowlier  than  my  prouder  brother's  ? 

What  thougli  I  lieai)  no  golden  spoil. 
The  envy  and  the  hate  of  others  ? 


TUE    CHEERFUL    HEART. 

Lot  Others  seek  the  shining  road, 

And  walk  with  mammon's  worldlj-  minions,  - 
I  joy  that  I've  no  wealth  to  load 

To  earth  my  spirit's  heavenward  pinions ! 

Brightly  may  glisten  glory's  light, 

Xo  envy  in  my  bosom  waking, 
For  Fame's  proud  wreath,  though  fair  to  sight, 

Oft  blooms  above  a  heart  that's  breaking. 
The  monarch's  crown  I  covet  not, 

And  only  pity  those  who  wear  it, 
Desiring  with  my  humble  lot 

Only  a  cheerful  heart  to  bear  it ! 


NOVEMBER. 

I\  the  chill  shadow  of  tlie  songlcss  wood, 
Of  late  so  musical  in  the  summer  air, 

Sits  autumn,  in  her  lonely  soliludi-. 

Hiding  her  sad  face  with  her  nut-brown  hair. 

Crowned  not  with  the  bright  garland  she  li.is  worn 
In  the  sweet  light  of  the  October  d.ijs. 

For  winter's  hand  the  wreath  has  rudely  toni. 
Blighted  and  faded,  from  its  resting-place. 

With  angry  haste  he  tears  away  its  leaves, 
Crusliing  its  flowers  beneath  his  icy  tread. 

Then,  half-repenting  his  unkindness,  weaves 
A  band  of  pearb  around  her  drooping  head. 

Alas  the  git\  has  chilled  her  to  the  heart ;  — 
And  now  with  gentle  touch  and  breathings  low. 

I  le  lays  tlie  brown  locks  from  her  face  apart. 
And  wraps  her  in  a  winding-sheet  of  snow. 


FLORENCE'S    BIRTH-DAY. 

•  Flokence,  wake  ! "  the  birds  are  calling 

Brushing  witli  their  wings  the  dew, 
But  the  words  wliich  they  are  saying 

None  may  know  but  me  and  you. 
'  T  is  your  birth-day  morning,  dearest, 

And  the  warbling  songsters  say, 

•  Baby  Florence,  darling  Florence, 

Two  years  old  to-day !  " 

Ah,  no  father's  lip  may  bless  you,  — 

He  is  o'er  the  sea  away ; 
TVould  his  fond  eyes  might  behold  you. 

Would  he  could  be  here  to-day ! 
Could  his  loving  arms  enfold  you. 

Do  you  know  what  he  would  say  ? 

•  Baby  Florence,  darling  Florence, 

Two  years  old  to-day ! " 


FtOKEXCES    IlIllTII-DAY. 

Never  mother's  licart  clung  closolicr 
To  her  cliilil  tlian  mine  to  you, 

Gem  of  love's  bright  broken  eircle, 
Fresh  and  guileless,  —  pure  and  true  ! 

Will  life's  thousand  cares  and  changes 
Lure  your  heart  from  mine  away  ? 

Baby  Florence,  darling  Florence, 
Two  yciu-s  old  to-»lay  ! 

Ah.  my  heart  looks  forward  sadly 
To  the  path  your  feet  must  tread;  — 

Would  it  might  be  strown  with  roses, 
And  their  thorns  be  mine  instead  ! 

Happy  one!  no  dark  misgivings 

Make  your  merry  heart  less  gay  ;  — 

Baby  Florence,  darling  Florence, 
Two  years  old  to-tlay ! 

And  I  will  not  dim  the  present. 

By  foreboding  future  woe  ; 
Grief  and  joy  in  life  are  mingled 

AViscly,  since  God  wills  it  so. 
And  there  is  a  watchful  angel 

Who  will  hover  round  your  way  ; 
Baby  Florence,  darling  Florence, 
Two  years  old  to-day  ! 


FLORENCES    BIRTU-DAY. 

I  will  tnist  you  with  the  Shepherd, 
Who,  whene'er  His  young  lambs  faint, 

Folds  them  softly  in  His  bosom. 
Soothing  every  wailing  plaint ; 

For  I  know  His  hand  will  lead  you 
Safely  through  life's  perilous  way ; 

Baby  Florence,  darling  Florence, 
Two  years  old  to-day ! 


MARCH. 

Ir  i-  Martli,  —  llie  month  of  .-^now-diirts  and  of  bltak  and 
boisterous  weatlicr, 

Wlien  the  winter  bills  defiance  to  the  s])ring, 
l!ut  on  tiiis  delightful  morning  they  walk  smilingly  together, 

Lover-like,  but  with  no  lover's  quarreling. 

For  tlie  mom  !<x>ks  out  in  beauty,  and  the  frojit's  cnainiliil 
painting 
On  the  pane,  is  slowly  melting  in  the  sun, — 
On  the  white  hills  in  the  distance,  soft  the  foggy  haze  i- 
fainting. 
From  the  eaves  the  ilrops  are  dripping,  one  by  one. 

.M<>s.-.y  knolls  on  yonder  hill-side  from  the   sinking  sno« 
are  |H>eping, 
And  the  sunliglit  rests  there  lovingly  and  fair. 
And  an   April  bn-eze  that  wooingly   from  yonder  wckmI  i- 
sweeping. 
Tells  of  young  buds  on  the  maple  branches  tliert-. 


I  can  close  my  eyes,  and  fancy  as  I  feel  upon  my  forehead 
The  fragrant  wind,  and  hear  its  pleasant  tune, 

Tliat  it  is  a  summer  zephyr,  and  its  balmy  breath  is  bor- 
rowed 
From  the  blossoming  and  budding  of  young  June. 


CLOVER     BLOSSOMS. 

I  "vE  rend  of  roses  till  I  tire  of  thcra, 

Of  (liifTodils  and  myrtle-blossoms  too, — 
I  M  rather  liuve  ii  fresh,  sweet,  home-like  gem 

Like  tliis  I  liold,  unhaekncyod,  pure  and  new;  — 
My  tiuste  is  rude  ;  —  I  like  not  hot-house  flowers,  — 

Art,  more  than  nature,  breathes  in  their  perfume  ; 
Tliey  are  unlike  these  children  of  the  showers 

As  carmine  is  unlike  a  natural  bloom, 
l\H)r  exiles,  city-boni  and  city-bi-ed. 

They  tell  no  tales  of  nature's  dewy  bowers;  — 
Were  I  a  bride,  this  morning  to  be  wed, 

I'll  slight  those  everlasting  "  onuige-flowei's," 
t  )f  which,  since  Eve  was  bride,  we've  heard  and  read, 
Ai\d  loop  the  bridal  veil  with  clover-blooms  instead ! 


TO    ONE    DEPARTED. 

Ix  the  soft  and  pale  spiiiig  sunlight, 

In  the  summer's  changing  hues,  — 
In  the  ringing  of  the  raiii-drops, 

In  the  dropping  of  the  dews, 
Comes  a  gentle  spirit-whisper 

Floating  dreamily  to  me. 
In  its  soft  and  soul-like  accents, 

Mui-muring,  lost  one,  of  thee  ! 

In  the  streamlet's  gushing  laughter. 

In  the  night-wind's  wailing  moan, 
In  the  breeze-rocked  forest's  music. 

In  the  wild-bird's  gladsome  tone, 
Still  I  hear  that  low  sweet  breatlxing 

From  the  harp  of  memory, 
On  its  viewless  pinions  bringing 

Dearest  one,  a  thought  of  thee ! 

In  the  wild-bee's  drowsy  humming, 
'  Jlid  the  summer's  flowermg  vines. 

In  the  spirit-like  complaining 
Of  the  wind  among  the  pines,  — 


TO    ONE    DKrARTKU. 

Ill  tlio  iliousiuul  dreamy  voices 
Ot"  (he  earth  and  of  the  sea, 

Cometh  still  that  haunting  whisper, 
Murmuring,  lost  one,  of  thee ! 

In  the  ocean's  surging  murmur, 

As  its  ceaseless  song  it  weaves,  - 
In  the  light  and  plaj-lul  rustle 

Of  the  wind  among  the  leaves,  — 
Wheresoe'er  niv  footsteps  wander 

Cometh  still  that  voice  to  me. 
Like  a  sweet  resounduig  echo. 

Murmuring  ever,  love,  of  thee ! 


TWO. 

I  AM  the  foot-stalk  and  she  is  the  flower,  — 

I  am  the  lattice  and  she  is  tlie  vine ; 
My  heart's  a  thirsty  waste,  —  hers  is  the  shower 

Bringing  refre filing  and  gladness  to  mine. 

Siie  is  a  scnlptured  dome.  —  I,  tlie  harsh  granite  ;  — 
Siie  is  the  virgin  gold,  —  I,  the  rongh  ore  ;  — 

She  is  a  perfect  and  beautiful  plant, 
I  am  the  nebulous  chaos  of  yore. 

She  is  a  living  form  ;  I  am  the  marble 

"Which  'ncath  the  chisel,  may  image  her  charms  ;  - 
My  music  breathes  of  art ;  —  hers  is  the  warble 

Borne  up  to  heaven,  in  the  morning's  blue  calms. 

Her  mind,  a  polished  gem,  needs  no  attrition. 
Mine  is  crude,  shapeless,  as  won  from  the  soil ; 

She,  by  a  natural  and  easy  transition. 

Grows  to  the  grace  that  I  reach  but  by  toil. 


Mine  is  a  power  acquired,  —  hers  was  bora  with  her,  ■ 
Mine  is  a  studied  charni,  —  hers  is  her  own  ; 

Slie  looks  dvicn  on  the  world,  —  I  look  up  thither, — 
I  stand  with  thousands,  but  she  stands  alone. 

I  am  the  canvas  whereon  may  be  painted 

Shapes  of  strange  beauty, — conceptions  sublime,— 

She  a  rare  picture,  —  pure,  beautiful,  sainted, 
Sketched  by  the  Master,  to  live  for  all  time. 

She  is  a  spring ;  —  I,  the  rock  that  stands  by  it ; 

She  is  the  cjilm  bright  sky,  —  I  am  the  sea. 
Mirroring  softly  its  pure  starry  quiet ;  — 

This  is  the  diflerence  in  my  love  and  me ! 


TWENTY-ONE. 

Twenty-one  !  't  is  yet  youth's  early  uioriiing,  — 
Life's  real,  earnest  strife  is  but  begun,  — 

Yet  there  falls  a  stem  mysterious  warning 
O'er  my  soul,  as  clouds  across  the  sun, 
And  a  voice  says,  "  'Work  ere  day  be  done ! " 

Twenty-one !  and  silently  before  me, 

Shade  of  the  dead  Past,  I  see  thee  rise ;  — 

Cast  not  now  thy  mournful  presence  o'er  me, 
Turn  not  on  me  thy  reproachful  eyes  ! 
Darkly  on  my  heart  their  meaning  lies. 

For  they  ask  me  —  "  Hast  thou  raised  one  altar 
To  the  Spirit  of  the  Good  and  True  ? 

"Wherefore  do  thy  footsteps  idly  falter 

Thus  at  duty's  gate,  and  pass  not  througli, 
Wliile  there  yet  remains  so  much  to  do  ?  " 


TWENTY-ONE. 

It  is  tlmt  my  weak  liands  have  no  power, 

Ami  I  ctuinot  labor  as  I  would ; 
Lacking  eloquence,  and  genius'  dower, 

How  can  I  achieve  a  single  good? 

How  be  heard  among  the  multitude  ? 

Rouse  thee,  heart,  from  thine  inactive  slumber ! 
Even  the  humblest  has  a  sphere  to  fiU, 

And  the  deeds  of  every  hour  I  number 
Help  to  swell  the  tide  of  good  or  ill ;  — 
Rouse !  thy  sloth  may  be  atoned  for  still ! 

If  I  cause  one  heart  to  beat  more  lightly, 
If  I  soothe  a  grief  or  ease  a  pain. 

If  I  make  one  tearful  eye  beam  brightly. 
With  the  light  of  happiness  again, 
I  shall  not  have  labored  all  in  vain. 


A    DRY    DITTY. 

On,  tlierc  has  been  a  weary  time 

Of  beat  and  dust  and  blight, 
Since  rain  has  blest  the  earth,  and  fringed 

The  leaves  -vvith  drops  of  light. 
The  river,  shrunken  in  its  bed, 

Keeps  sadly  murmuring, — 
The  frogs  are  silent  all  the  night, 

They  have  no  heart  to  sing ! 

Men  make  strange  faces  at  the  sky, 

And  "  think  it  looks  like  rain  "  — 
Ah,  that  their  hopeful  prophecies 

Are  ventured  all  in  vam ! 
That  "  all  signs  fail  in  time  of  drought," 

They  willingly  allow. 
And  weather-wisdom  everywhere 

Is  at  a  discoimt  now ! 

On  the  parched  roofs  the  shingles  warp  ;  — 

The  cisterns  all  are  dry  ;  — 
The  very  spouts  along  the  eaves 

Ya>vn  half-reproachfully ; 


A    DRY    niTTY. 

And  whtn  to  (im  the  piisscrs-by, 

A  cwling  breeze  is  given, 
Diist-douds,  lilic  a  remonstnuicc,  rise 

Iinploringly  to  heaven. 

Ladies  walk  out,  as,  mill  or  sliino, 

They  always  will  and  must, 
But  even  their  light  loot-falls  niise 

A  choking  whirl  of  dust. 
Low  slippers  lose  their  witchery. 

White  hose  look  sadly  dim, 
And  little  feet  with  gaiter-boots 

Are  in  a  sorry  trim. 

Come  to  the  thirsty  earth,  oh,  rain  I 

Come  to  the  yellow  grass  ! 
Come  to  the  crisped  leaves,  that  curl. 

Dry  nistling,  as  I  pass ! 
Come,  that  all  green  things  may  rejoice ! 

Come,  that  the  patient  boat 
Moored  where  the  river  used  to  be. 

M.-iy  be  once  more  afloat  I 

Come  that  the  school-boys,  who  erewhiie 
JIopc  listless  through  the  street. 

May  wade  along  in  road-side  ponds. 
And  wash  their  dusty  feet ! 


A    DRY   DITTY. 

Let  mothers  scold  o'er  muddy  clothes, 

And  warning  thi-eats  repeat, 
Boys  never  can  be  boys  but  once, 

And  rain  is  such  a  treat ! 

Come  rain,  dear  rain !  'mid  nature's  friends 

I  prize  thee  most  of  all ;  — 
Alas,  that  one  who  loves  thee  so 

Could  glory  in  thy  fall !  — 
Joy !  —  one  of  larger  faith  than  I, 

Most  trustingly  maintains 
That  "  that  after  such  a  drought  as  this, 

It  almost  always  rains  !  " 


78 


THE    BENT     OF    THE    TWIG- 

TiiK  moon  is  out  in  beauty,  silvering 

Hill,  field  and  forest  with  her  iey  light, 
And  i»s  I  gaze,  a  tiny,  toddling  thing. 

With  pattering  feet,  and  faee  upraised  and  bright. 
Climes  to  my  side;  —  I  raise  her  in  my  arms 

Plaeing  her  feet  upon  the  window-sill, 
And  long  she  gazes  on  the  liuidscapc's  charms. 

Laughing  as  lUl  delighted  babies  will : 
t  Jrasps  at  the  stars,  wliieh  far  in  dizzy  space. 

Lie  thick  ai  blossoms  in  the  lap  of  June,  — 
Tlien  with  lips  parted,  and  uplifti'd  face, 

liaises  her  anus  and  tries  to  kiss  the  moon. 
'•  Jft)w  soon"  says  one  whose  face  I  just  discover, 

"  That  child,  like  all  her  sex,  atpires  to  things  above  her  ! 


74 


THE    WHITE    DOVE. 

Over  the  misty  mountains, 
Over  the  sounding  sea, 

Fiir  through  the  dreamy  distance 
Came  a  white  dove  to  me. 

Sorrow  upon  my  harp-strings 

Lay  like  corroding  rust, 
Darkly  hope's  holy  radiance 

Faded,  an  empty  trust,  — 
Till  my  o'erburdened  spirit, 

Wildered  by  doubts  and  fears, 
Saw  only  clouds  and  darkness 

Dimly,  through  falling  tears,  — 

Wlien  over  tlic  misty  mountains, 

Over  the  surging  sea, 
Far  through  the  dreamy  distance, 

Came  a  white  dove  to  me. 


TIIK    WHITE    1>0VK. 

Spoko  I  ill  trcn>l)liiif;  whispers 

Thus  to  the  spirit-binl :  — 
'  Who  in  the  land  of  shadows, 

Who  hath  my  phiiniiig  hoard  ? 
Art  thou  some  frii-iul  di'parti'd, 

Come  to  my  heart  agjiiii  ?  " 
And  a  sweet  voice  rose  clearly. 

Soft  as  the  summer  rain  :  — 

"Over  llie  misty  mountains. 
Over  the  sounding  sea. 
Far  through  the  dreamy  distance, 
Lone  one,  I  come  to  thee ! 


•  I  am  no  friend  departed 

Over  life's  mystic  main. 
Coming  in  clouds  and  darkness 

Back  to  thy  heart  again  ;  — 
I  am  the  might,  the  power, 

Conqueror  all  al)Ove, 
I  ant  the  joy,  the  sunshine 

Lighting  earth's  darkness,  —  Lovo  ! 

'•  And  over  the  misty  mountains. 
Over  the  surging  sea. 
Far  through  the  dreamy  distance, 
Lone  one,  I  come  to  thee !  " 


THE    WHITE    DOVE. 

Then  the  white  dove  which  never, 

Never  will  more  depart, 
Folded  its  snowy  pinions 

Over  my  gladdened  heart ; 
Thrillingly  sweet  and  gentle 

Is  the  low  song  it  sings  — 
"  Rest  thee,  thou  weary  spirit. 

Under  my  shielding  wings ! " 

Over  the  misty  mountains, 
Over  the  sounding  sea. 

Far  through  the  dreamy  distance 
Came  a  wliite  dove  to  me  ! 


A    LULLABY. 

Come  to  my  bosom,  my  only,  my  own, 
Thou  from  whose  forehead  heaven's  light  hath  not  flown, 
Time  hath  not  yet,  with  his  pinions  of  gloom. 
Scattered  thy  young  heart's  first  beautiful  bloom,  — 
Tliou  art  unchilled  by  the  shadows  of  years, 
Tliou  hast  not  gathered  life's  harvest  of  tears  ;  — 
Fondly  I  chu<|)  thee,  beloved,  in  my  arms, — 
Freshness  and  purity,  —  these  arc  thy  charms! 

Roses  are  sweetest  when  j)artly  blown. 
Love  is  most  blessed  wlion  scarcely  known, 
Life  is  brightest  when  just  begun. 
And  thus  are  all  dear  things,  beloved  one ! 
But  my  heart,  as  thy  tiny  form  I  press, 
'\Vhis|)ers  —  '•!  never  can  love  thee  less!" 

Wiien  summer's  fierce  heats  in  the  sultiy  air  quiver, 
T  is  cheering  to  list  to  the  cool  sound  of  a  river. 
And  thus  to  my  heart  comes  the  voice  of  thy  laughter, 
Witli  its  frc?h  ri]>pling  gush,,  and  its  sweet  echo  after. 


78  A    LULLADT. 

'Jly  love,  like  a  vine,  clasps  its  tendrils  about  thee, 

And  desolate,  lone,  were  my  being  without  thee  ; 

Oh,   we'll   walk  hand   in  hand  through  life's  changeable 

weather, 
And  when  death's  summons  comes,  we'll  obey  it  together ! 

Jloming  is  brightest  when  it  is  breaking, 

Music  is  sweetest  just  at  its  waking. 

Stars  are  most  beautiful  when  first  they  glimmer. 

Time  renders  all  bright  things  colder  and  dimmer ; 

God  keep  thy  heart,  through  life's  trials  estranging. 

Constant  and  spotless, — unchanged  and  unchanging ! 

"Weary  of  life's  dull  monotonous  hum. 
Till  my  tired  heart  siulis,  all  voiceless  and  dumb. 
Weary  of  following  one  dreary  way 
Aimless  and  passionless,  day  after  day, 
Gladly  to  greet  thee  my  worn  spirit  flies, 
Light  of  my  loneliness,  —  star  of  my  skies  ! 
Fondly  I  chisp  thee  again  in  my  arms,  — 
Frcslmess  and  purity  —  these  are  thy  chiirms  ! 

Roses  are  sweetest  when  partly  blown, 
Love  is  most  blessed  when  scarcely  known, 
Life  is  brightest  when  just  begun, 
And  thou  art  now  loveliest,  dearest  one  ! 
But  my  fond  heart  breathes,  as  I  kiss  thy  brow, 
"  I  never  can  love  thee  less  than  now  ! " 


THY    BLESSING. 

I   CANNOT  conip  to  tliio  iui  in  llip  Jays 

Ix)n<;  past,  but  not  for-jotteii ;  —  I  have  been 

Since  then  tliivugh  many  dark  and  dreary  way- 
Thix»ugh  much  of"  care,  and  weariness,  and  sii 

Thy  path  lies  calmly  'mid  the  pastures  green 
And  the  still  waters  of  the  better  land, 

While  vainly  yearning  for  that  rest  serene, 
My  feet  still  press  life's  buniing  desert-sand. 

And  yet,  in  spirit  and  in  truth  I  come 
To  crave  thy  blessing,  ere  I  wander  far 

Across  the  waste  of  ocean's  plashing  foam, 
Obedient  to  my  chosen  guiding-star. 

And  by  n  gentle  faith,  which  long  hath  shed 
Its  mdianec  on  a  i)athway  dim  and  cold, 

I  feel  thy  shadowy  hand  U[)on  my  head. 
And  hear  thy  whis|>ered  blessing  as  of  old. 


TUT    BLESSING. 

il)-  glail  heart  rises  every  fear  above, 

Strengthened  by  the  inspiring  words  to  say,  - 

'  I  will  be  true  to  duty  and  to  love. 

And  follow  wheresoe'er  they  lead  the  way  ! " 


THE    SUNKEN    ROCK. 

She  liiiincheil  her  boat  at  break  of  day, 
And  o'er  the  waters  sailed  away. 
'  Oil  pray,"  she  said,  '•  no  billow  dark 
May  whelm  me  and  my  little  bark  !" 

•  Oh  may  no  temiK>st's  mg^ing  wrath 
Sweep  wildly  o'er  my  watery  path. 
No  eloud  the  elear  sky  darken  o'er, 
Until  I  reaeh  the  other  shore ! " 

The  sea  was  smooth,  the  sky  was  fair. 
And  softly  breathed  the  wafting  air. 
And  leaning  o'er  the  vessel's  side. 
The  maiden  watched  the  waves  divide. 

And  heard  the  soft  contiuous  note 
Sung  by  the  waters  round  her  Iwat. 
While  flakes  of  foam,  like  lilies,  lay 
Whitely  along  the  rippling  way. 


THE    SUNKEN    ROCK. 

Then  sung  the  maiden  joyfully, 
•  There's  not  a  cloud  to  dim  the  sky, 
How  pleasantly,  the  bright  waves  o'er, 
I  hasten  to  the  other  shore !  " 

When  lo !  with  rude  and  stunning  shock. 
The  frail  keel  struck  a  sunken  rock. 
And  though  no  cloud  the  calm  sky  crossed. 
The  maiden  and  the  boat  were  lost ! 

And  as  the  fated  bark  went  down, 
A  voice  the  waters  could  not  drown, 
Said  —  "  Fear  thou  not  the  tempest's  shock, 
But  oh,  beware  the  sunken  rock  !  " 


THE    UNBIDDEN    GUEST. 

JIiKTii  mill  music  are  here  to-night, 

Rod  lips  inurmiir  and  bright  ej'cs  glance, 

Foi-ms  of  beauty  with  motion  light 
Float  and  whirl  in  the  dizzy  dance. 

I'p  and  down  in  a  living  stR'am 

Winds  the  waltz  like  a  wreath  of  flowers, 
Rich  robes  rustle  and  white  amis  gleam, 

Light  feet  fall  like  tJie  beat  of  showers. 

Yonder,  there  where  the  shadow  lies. 
Pale  and  earnest  a  face  aj)pears, 

Gazing  at  nie  with  steady  eyes. 

Eyes  whose  brightness  is  that  of  tears. 

See  ye,  pay  ones,  the  pale  sad  face. 
Gazing  f«irth  from  the  shadow  there  ? 

Can  it  be  that  the  form  I  trace 
Is  no  other  than  empty  air? 


THE    UNBIDDEN    GUEST. 

Lightly,  brightly,  the  dance  whirls  by. 
Pausing  not  where  the  shadow  lies 

Dim  and  silent,  —  and  only  I 

See  the  face  with  the  haunting  eyes. 

Sweet  the  calm  on  the  brow  that  lies, 
Sweet  the  smile  on  the  silent  lips, 

Still  and  deep  are  the  shadowy  eyes, 
Like  a  lake  where  the  lily  dips. 

•  Guest  unbidden,  why  haunt  me  so  ? 

All  the  day  are  my  thoughts  of  thee, 
All  the  night  does  thy  memory  flow 

Over  my  soul  like  a  whelming  sea ! 

■  Ever  into  my  dim  lone  room 

Comest  thou  nightly,  with  even's  star, — 
Wliy  dost  thou  come  where  light  and  bloom. 
Beauty  and  love  and  gladness  are  ?  " 

Clasping  closely  my  passive  hands, 

Comes  the  presence  and  walks  with  me,— 

In  and  out  with  the  joyous  bands 
Pass  together  the  bond  and  free. 

And  as  we  wander  to  .ind  fro 

Under  the  lamp-light's  searching  shine, 
Little  the  eyes  which  see  me,  know 

Spirit  fingers  are  clasping  mine  ! 


TWENTY-TWO. 

Smilingly  day's  wearied  monarch 

Lays  aside  her  golden  crown, 
And  o'er  earth's  eahn  breast,  the  twilight 

Slmke.s  her  shadowy  tresses  down. 
With  wliite  foreiiead  pure  and  saintly 

Comes  the  moon  of  memories, 
And  u|Kin  the  dim  earth  faintly 

L(H)k  thf  loving  Tleiades. 

Lillle  one,  with  face  ii])lifted 

Softly  to  the  failing  light. 
And  thy  sofl  hair  brightly  drifted 

Backward  from  thy  forehead  white, — 
Come,  while  yet  yon  lonely  wild-birtl 

Warbles  forth  his  farewell  trills. 
And  the  hem  of  day's  bright  garment 

Lies  lUong  the  western  hills,  — 


TWENTY-TWO. 

Come  and  see  liow  fust  the  summer 

Flees  before  October's  tread, 
"With  her  garments  rent  and  faded, 

And  her  garlands  sere  and  dead. 
Bright  the  frozen  dew-drops  glitter 

Lying  on  her  soft  brown  hair, 
And  her  sighing,  sad  and  bitter, 

Burdens  all  the  golden  air. 

Two-and-twent_y  years  this  even 

Since  a  mother's  yearning  prayer 
Blest  a  young  child,  newly  given 

To  the  world's  unloving  care ; 
Two-and-twenty  years  this  even ! 

Just  as  now  the  stars  looked  down,  — 
Just  as  now,  night's  calm-browed  empress 

Wore  her  pearl  and  silver  crown  ;  — 

Yet  all  else  is  strangely  altered ; 

Ah,  for  many  lonesome  years. 
O'er  that  mother's  lowly  grave-mound 

Have  the  violets  dropped  their  tears ; 
"Weeping  not  that  she  so  early 

In  life's  battle  sunk  and  died. 
But  that  one  she  blessed  in  dying. 

Is  not  sleeping  by  her  side  ! 


TWENTY-TWO. 

Littlf  one,  witli  face  uplit'tcd 

Softly  in  the  silver  light, 
AnJ  thy  bright  hair  backward  drifted  — 

Know'st  thou  't  is  my  birth-day  night? 
Know'st  thou,  as  we  kneel  together 

Wliere  the  moonlight  floods  the  floor. 
On  my  conscious  head  in  blessing. 

Rests  that  mother's  hand  once  more  ? 


MAGIC    MIRRORS. 

A  FAiu  young  child  with  lieart  of  glee 
Stands  prattling  by  its  mother's  knee, 
And  as  her  eyes  reflect  the  smile 
Brightening  her  darling's  face  the  while, 

"  Oh,  mother,  dear,"  the  cherub  cries, 

'•'  I  see  a  baby  in  your  eyes !" 

The  mother  stoops  and  pla}'fully 

Raising  the  infant  to  her  knee, 

Gazes  within  the  azure  deeps 

Where  joy's  bright  meaning  never  sleeps  ;  - 

A  pale  sad  womayi  she  descries, 

Out-gazing  from  her  baby's  eyes  ! 

'  Ah,  eyes  tell  truth,"  she  sighs  at  last,  — 
'  Yours  speak  your  future,  —  mine  my  past ; 

For  in  your  radiant  orbs  I  see 

A  prophecy  of  days  to  he. 

And  in  my  own  dimmed  eyes,  appears 

A  glimpse  of  childhood's  vanished  years  !  " 


THE    HAUNTED    RIVER. 

I   SIT  liy  a  boiiutifiil  river. 

Whose  waves,  dancing  on  to  the  sea, 
Are  kissing  each  other  in  gladness. 

And  laughing  like  children  in  glee. 

It  flows  amid  llowcr-gcninicd  meadows, 
And  eddies  through  blossomy  dells, 

And,  to  every  frcsli  leaf-sjii-ay  that  greets  it, 
A  tale  of  new  melody  tells. 

When  twilight  with  covetous  fingers 

Afar  in  the  shadowy  w^cst, 
lias  gathered  the  roses  of  sunset. 

And  hidden  them  under  her  vest,  — 

I  love  by  its  margin  to  wander, 

For  sweetest  of  music  to  me 
Is  the  song  rippling  up  from  its  bosom. 

In  numbers  triumiiluuit  and  free. 


THE    HAUNTED    RIVER. 

The  charm  of  an  olden  tradition 

Hangs  over  the  beautiful  place, 
Investing  its  wildering  sweetness 

With  a  sacred  and  mystical  grace. 

'T  is  a  tale  of  a  sunny-eyed  maiden 
"Who  dwelt  by  the  murmuring  stream, 

"With  a  form  and  a  face  which  were  fairer 
Than  the  shapes  in  a  summer-night's  dream. 

But  there  came  a  dark  sorrow,  that  blighted 

Her  heart  to  its  innermost  core. 
And  the  gladness  returned  to  her  spirit. 

And  the  smile  to  her  sweet  lips  no  more. 

One  night  in  the  beautiful  season 
"Wliich  follows  the  summer's  decline, 

"WHien  beams  from  the  fair  face  of  heaven 
A  smile  that  is  almost  divine,  — 

"Wlien  her  chaplet  of  crimson  and  golden 
The  goddess  of  autumn-time  weaves, 

And  berries  like  clusters  of  i-ubies 
Hide  under  the  emerald  leaves,  — 

She  parted  the  curls  from  her  forehead. 
And  bound  them  with  glittering  gems, 

And  looped  up  their  rich  glossy  masses 
"With  lilies  and  daffodil  stems,  — 


TIIF.    lIArVTED    niVER. 

And  ilocked  in  pure  snowy-white  gnrnicnis 

lU-filting  ft  newly-made  bride, 
Slie  loosened  her  boat  from  its  mooring. 

And  rowed  o'er  the  glistening  tide. 

And  when  the  glad  morning  was  shaking 
The  light  from  her  tresses  of  gold, 

And  the  folds  of  her  niany-lmed  mantle 
Agjiin  in  the  eiU'it  were  enrolled, 

And  the  wootl-birds,  to  welcome  her  coming 
AVere  warbling  their  merriest  strain. 

The  boat  lay  alone  on  the  water 

But  the  maiden  returned  not  .igain. 

And  't  is  said  in  the  gathering  twilight 
Of  autumn's  soil  whispering  eves, 

When  sweetly  the  river  is  singing 
Its  song  to  the  listening  leaves, 

When  the  wind,  with  a,  mother's  devotion 
lias  roeked  the  faint  blossoms  to  rest, 

And  the  white  moonlight  lies  like  a  spirit 
A-leep  on   the  river's  soft  breast. 

With  a  dipping  of  shadowy  ])addles 
Which  noiselessly  tremble  and  gleam. 

A  boat,  like  a  silvery  crescent 

Comes  floating  adown  the  bright  stream. 


THE    HAUNTED    RIVER. 

And  there,  with  her  lily-twined  tresses, 

A  snowy-white  bridal  array. 
The  beautiful  maiden  sits  guiding 

The  boat  on  its  star-lighted  way. 

Ah  !  oft  have  I  mused  on  the  story. 

Alone  in  this  shadowy  place, 
Till  I  almost  could  see  in  the  waters 

The  gleam  of  a  beautiful  face,  — 

Till  dimly  my  watcliing  eyes  pictured 
In  a  far  away  curve  of  the  stream, 

The  spirit-like  boat  of  the  maiden 

And  her  white  garments'  quivering  gleam. 


C  II  A  R  MED. 

TiRN  away  thy  strange  soft  eyes, 
They  oppress  me  with  their  beauty, 

And  the  light  that  in  them  lies 
Lures  roe  far  from  right  and  duty. 

I  have  watched  their  dazzling  beam 
Till  my  very  life  and  being, 

Thought  and  speech  and  motion  seem 
Centered  in  the  sense  of  seeing. 

Though  the  fire  of  thy  strange  eyes 
To  my  very  heart  is  burning. 

Still  my  wildercd  spirit  sighs 
Deeply  for  their  soft  returning. 

For  my  all  of  bliss  in  life 

I  have  known  since  first  I  met  thee. 
Ah  !   it  is  a  weary  strife 

This  vain  struggle  to  forget  thee ! 


WHERE    CHARLIE     DIED. 

There  seems  a  saired  presence  here, 

A  gloom  as  of  approaching  night, 
For  one  whose  smile  to  us  was  dear 

Here  bowed  to  death's  remorseless  blight. 
The  youngest  of  our  liousehold  band, 

Fair-browed,  and  gay,  and  sunny-eyed, 
Unclasped  from  ours  his  little  hand 

And  in  his  cliildish  beauty  died. 

They  said  he  died  ;  —  it  seems  to  me 

That,  after  hours  of  pain  and  strife. 
lie  slept,  one  even,  peacefully, 

And  woke  toeverLosting  life  ; 
And  mirth's  glad  voice,  and  laughter's  cheer 

May  ring  througli  all  the  house  beside. 
But  quiet  sadness  reigneth  here. 

Since  darling  babv  Charlie  died. 


WHF.UE    CHARLIE   DIED. 

Oh  !  wlicn  my  hi-art,  oppressed  by  care, 

Grows  fiiiiit  to  find  its  heaven  unwon, 
And  slirinks  irom  life's  vain  hollow  glare 

As  flowers  beneath  the  August  sun,  — 
I  love  to  seek  this  shadowy  room, 

By  memory  sa<lly  sanctified, 
And  linger  in  the  elo<iuent  gloom 

AVhieh  liallows  it  since  Charlie  died. 

And  ever  as  I  enter  here, 

AVith  noiseless  steps  and  low-drawn  breath. 
There  seems  an  unseen  presence  near. 

For  here  the  twilight  gjite  of  death 
Once,  on  a  holy  summer  night. 

By  angel  hands  was  swung  aside. 
Opening  from  darkness  into  light 

AVhen  darling  baby  Charlie  died. 


THE    MINSTREL. 

One  there  wa?,  thougli  fair  ami  young. 

Blest  with  song's  most  wondrous  dower 
And  a  skilful  hand  she  flung 

O'er  a  lyre  of  magic  power. 
Beauty  fashioned  not  her  face 

Li  a  mould  of  faultless  seeming, 
But  it  wore  thouglit's  earnest  trace. 

And  the  light  of  soul,  bright  beaming. 

In  her  eyes  so  strangely  bright. 

Full  of  deep  and  dewy  splendor, 
Wlien  their  soft  and  changeful  light 

Told  of  feeling  true  and  tender,  — 
In  her  haughty  brow  of  snow. 

In  the  tear  her  cheek  impearling.  — 
In  the  sweet  voice  trembling  low. 

In  her  soft  lip  proudly  curling ; 
In  her  song's  melodious  art, 

Sweetness  from  its  grief  deriving, 
One  might  read  that  in  her  heart 

Pride  and  wretchedness  were  striving  : 


TIIK    MINSTUKI.. 

TluMijili  the  worldly  thought U's«  ihi-on"; 

Paused  awhile  to  list  in  woiuler 
The  proud  triumph  of  her  song, 

And  tlu!  luigiiish  wailing  under. 
AVhen  she  sung  of  brows  of  snow, 

Xo  one  knew  that  hers  was  nehing. 
When  of  hearts  in  joy's  bright  glow. 

No  one  cared  that  hers  was  breaking ;  - 
"When  she  sung  of  smiling  eyes, 

No  one  saw  that  hers  were  tearful. 
And  her  young  life's  closest  ties 

Kent  by  anguish  strong  and  fearful. 
Loneliness  weighed  down  her  heart, — 

Ia)Vc  or  friendship  never  found  her,  — 
Nut  one  soul  with  hers  had  part, 

'Mid  the  thousands  gathered  round  lier ; 
For  the  groat  world  looked  on  her 

As  on  one  too  highly  gifted 
For  a  mortal  love  to  stir, — 

And  no  pleading  voice  was  lifted. 

Thus  she  sang,  day  after  day, 

No  one  heeding,  no  one  caring. 
Till  her  licart,  once  light  and  gay. 

Grew  d.irk,  heavy  and  despairing. — 
Till  her  liong  of  dreamings  bright 

Changed  to  murmurs  sad  and  bitter. 
And  her  soft  eyes'  loving  light 

Grew  a  cold  and  icy  glitter  ; 


THE    MINSTREL. 

Till  her  eyelids  drooped  in  sleep, 

And  her  song  wi»5  hushed  forever, 
And  she  sunk  in  slumber  deep, 

Tired  of  life's  long  vain  endeavor ;  ■ 
And  her  last  brief  trembling  breath 

Fell  upon  the  deaf  air  only,  — 
Who  shall  answer  for  her  death 

Thus  uncared-for,  sad  and  lonely  ? 

Every  feeling  unreturned. 

Each  affection  unrequited. 
Every  prayer  for  love  that's  spumed, 

Every  lofty  hope  that's  blighted. 
Is  a  deep  and  bitter  wrong 

In  tlie  eyes  of  the  All-seeing, 
And  amid  life's  varied  throng, 

Many  a  heart  deplores  their  being. 

"Who  shall  answer  for  the  grief 
In  the  minstrel's  being  centei'ed  ? 

On  wliat  cold  heart's  darkened  leaf 
Shall  the  heavy  sin  be  entered  ? 


DANDELIONS. 

On.  (laiulclions,  yc  are  hci-e  ngiiin 

With  .lime's  ghul  sunsliinc  in  your  golden  eyes ! 
Fur  IIS  the  eye  may  reach,  o'er  hill  and  plain, 

A  yellow  smile  on  nature's  fair  face  lies. 
( )li.  bright-eyed  ones  !  ye  are  the  only  tlowei-s 

Wiiieh  eome  to  me  as  ye  in  ehildhowl  came  ; 
All  things  seem  changed  to  me,  since  those  bright  hours 

All  but  your  faces,  —  they  arc  just  the  siime,  — 
.Vnd  I  ret  race  my  path  of  toil  and  care 

Hack  to  the  realm  of  toys  and  skip|)ing-ropes, 
And  blow  your  gossamer  seed-globes  high  in  air, 

.Vnd  watch  their  rise,  —  as  rose  my  early  hopes  ! 
Too  truly  said,  —  for  like  your  feathery  crown 
I've  found  those  hopes,  since  then,  most  literally  doicn  ! 


THE    HAND    IN    MINE. 

A  HAND  like  the  leaf  of  a  blush-rose, 

O'er  which  the  bright  dew-pearls  are  stromi. 

Forever  through  sunlight  and  shadow 
Is  lovingly  clasped  in  my  own. 

If  I  roam  through  the  summer-time  forests, 
Or  climb  the  steep  slope  of  the  liills,  — 

Or  rest  in  the  blossomy  shadows 

Which  curtain  the  course  of  the  rills, — 

If  I  search  for  the  first  timid  flowers 
The  spring's  budding  mosses  among, 

Or  sit  in  the  shine  of  the  fire-light 

When  the  evenings  are  wintry  and  long, — 

If  I  stray  where  tiic  world's  striving  voices 
Are  sounding,  contentious  and  loud, 

Or  seek  in  my  own  quiet  chamber, 
Relief  from  the  turbulent  crowd, — 


Tin:    ll\M>    IN     MINK. 

In  tlie  brijiht  hours  wliicli  follow  the  iliiwii 
Or  in  the  broiul  daylight  of  noon, 

Or  when  the  blithe  cricket  is  singing 
At  eve  liis  monotonous  tune, — 

Or  when  the  tliiek  tresses  of  midnight 
On  eiirth's  silent  bosom  are  thrown, 

The  luind  with  its  sort,  clasping  fnigers 
Lies  lovingly  still  in  my  own. 

Anil  when  the  pale  messenger  comcth, 
AVhose  smile  hath  a  promise  divine, 

Will  they  lay  me  away  from  my  idol, 
And  take  the  dear  fingers  from  mine  ? 

Oh,  no  I  let  us  yield  up  together 

The  hust  brief  and  quivering  breath. 

And  the  hands  which  in  life  never  parted, 
Be  still  undivided  in  death  ! 


AGAIN. 

Mother,  I  come  to  thee  again, 

As  in  my  shadowed  hours  of  old, 
But  oh,  I  find  thee  not  as  then, — 

The  sod  above  thy  heart  is  cold ; 
I  hear  no  more  thy  wliisper's  thrill, 

I  feel  no  more  thy  lip's  soft  touch,  — 
Thy  voice  is  mute,  thy  heart  is  still, 

And  I  am  changed  almost  as  much  I 

For  fate  my  trembling  steps  has  led 

TTliere  sorrow's  bitter  waters  swell. 
And  showers  from  love's  pure  fountain  shed, 

Have  changed  to  tear-drops  as  they  fell ; 
And  now  for  many  a  weary  year, 

Since  I  have  strayed  away  from  thee. 
Thy  low  neglected  pillow  here 

lias  only  seemed  like  home  to  me. 


Ami  tliough  across  my  foreliead  now, 

Time's  lines  anil  funxjws  are  not  drawn 
Though  years  rest  lightly  on  my  brow, 

The  spring-time  of  my  heart  is  gone;- 
And  I  eould  envy  tliy  sweet  rest, 

Thy  calm  release  from  pain  and  care,— 
Could  gladly  sleep  upon  thy  breast, 

And  tind  a  blessed  solace  there ! 


MY    WORLD. 

I  HAVE  a  \vorkl,  a  radiant  world, 

In  which  I  dwell  alone, 
Where  earthly  cares  and  woes  and  fears 

Are  never  felt  or  known  ; 
No  foot  unwelcome  enters  there,  — 

I  hold  the  mystic  key  ; 
Its  golden  portals,  wide  and  fair. 

Ope  never  but  for  me. 

There  are  no  sorrows  in  my  world. 

No  anguish  and  no  tears  ; 
Its  beauty  and  its  happiness 

Fade  not  with  fading  years ; 
There  are  no  tempests  in  its  sky, 

No  clouds  by  lightning  riven  ; 
No  gloom  or  darkness  ever  falls 

Athwart  its  summer-heaven. 


MY    VOULI>. 

No  stiiitlicrii  I'limo  li:i.-i  (lowers  .«o  Mvcft, 

With  lilies  so  rich  mid  bright, 
As  tliosc  whii-h  blossom  in  iiiy  world, 

riichillrd  by  winter's  blifjbt: 
Amid  its  ganltiis  broad  iind  fair 

No  stricken  blossom  grioves, — 
My  world  luus  autumn's  gorgeous  dyes, 

But  not  its  withered  leaves. 

And  there  are  (u-ineely  |)alares, 

Anil  towers  high  and  fair. 
Rearing  their  snowy  battlements 

AgJiinst  the  purple  air  ; 
And  stately  domes  and  marble  founts, 

And  eit<tles  proud  and  grand. 
Arc  there,  beneath  the  rosy  skies 

Of  my  enchanted  land. 

And  there  are  birds  whose  colored  wing 

Fan  fragrance  from  the  liowers, 
As  in  and  out,  in  sun  and  shade, 

They  lloat  like  winged  flowers  ; 
And  when  upon  their  shining  plumes, 

I  watch  the  rainbow  gleams, 
I  hear  such  songs  as  other  ears 

Hear  only  in  their  drciuiis. 


MT    WORLD. 

No  frowning  storm-cloud  broods  in  wrath 

3Iy  pleasant  world  above, 
For  all  the  air  is  music  there, 

And  every  thought  is  love  ; 
"  The  wind  is  never  in  the  east "  — 

But  zephyrs  bland  and  sweet 
Blow  soft,  and  shake  the  blossoms  down 

In  showers  at  my  feet. 

You  think  my  world  a  lifeless  realm, 

A  fair  dead  solitude, 
"Wliere  loneliness  and  mystery 

And  voiceless  silence  brood  ; 
But  it  has  shapes  of  radiant  grace, 

With  faces  sweet  and  fair, 
With  brows  unmarked  by  toil  and  grief. 

And  eyes  undimmed  by  care. 

These  be  the  angel  muiistcrs 

Who  shield  me  with  their  wmgs, 
And  sing  me  sweet  unearthly  songs 

Of  high  and  holy  things ; 
Who  fill  my  heart  with  happiness 

Which  nothing  can  destroy, 
And  make  my  life,  despite  its  clouds, 

A  blessing  and  a  joy. 


MY    WOUI.P. 

And  wlien,  like  fiul  foreboding  olnuil.-. 

Heavy  with  nuturan  niin, 
The  shadows  of  this  outer  lif(^ 

Full  dark  on  heart  and  bruin, 
I  have  a  refuge  fmm  their  wrath 

AVhieh  olhei-s  may  not  see, 
For  into  my  ideal  world 

They  cannot  follow  me. 


RESIGNATION. 

There  is  no  sister-baml,  however  tended, 
But  one  young  bride  is  there  ;  — 

There  is  no  fire-side,  howsoe'er  defended. 
But  has  one  vacant  chair. 

Our  home  is  full  of  mingled  smiles  and  sigliing, 

Our  fairest  one  has  fled ! 
And  baby  Ned,  for  his  lost  sister  crying. 

Will  not  be  comforted ! 

Let  us  be  patient !  these  severe  afilictions 

Not  from  the  ground  arise. 
But  oftentimes,  celestial  benedictions 

Assume  hymeneal  guise. 

TVe  see  but  dimly  through  the  mists  and  vapors 

But,  drying  sorrow's  damps, 
"We  read  her  marriage  notice  in  the  papers. 

And  trim  hope's  brightest  lamps. 


nKSir.NATION.  10 

JIurrinpte  is  nought ;  —  what  socms  so  is  transition  ; 

The  lit'o  she  lived  of  late 
Is  hut  n  suliurh  to  the  life  olysi.-m 

Yoli-pt  till-  wi-ildcd  stale. 

She  is  not  dead,  —  the  child  of  our  alVection, 

Hut  gone  unto  that  school. 
Wherein  she  lavs  aside  our  fond  jirotection 

To  own  a  liushand's  rulr. 

In  that  gival  cloister's  stillness  and  sicUisioii, 

lly  hi.s  old  mother  led, 
Safe  from  "young  company"  and  mirth's  intrusion, 

She  lives,  — the  same' as  dea.I. 

Day  aller  day  we  think  wiuit  she  is  doing 

In  those  old  dismal  rooms, 
Year  al'kcr  year,  hor  toilsome  way  pursuing 

With  stew-pans,  mops  and  brooms. 

Sometime  will  visit  her,  to  keep  uni)r(jken 

The  Iwnd  which  nature  gives, 
Thinking  that  our  kind  jiity,  though  unspoken, 

May  cheer  her  where  she  lives. 

Not  ail  a  girl  shall  wc  ngnin  behold  her, 

For  when,  with  rapture  wild. 
In  our  enibnices  we  again  enfold  her, 

She  will  not  be  a  chil  I,  — 


•  KE5IGXATI0X. 

But  a  staid  matron,  in  her  husband's  mansion, 

Clothed  with  a  graver  grace, 
And  beautiful  with  womanhood's  expansion. 

Shall  we  behold  her  face. 

And  though  we  see,  with  anger  and  emotion, 

How  poorly  she  is  dressed, 
In  a  cheap  gingham,  which  with  fond  devotion, 

She  dignifies  her  "  best," 

We  will  be  patient,  and  assuage  the  feeling. 

The  little  time  we  stay, 
Our  pity  and  our  sympathy  concealuig 

Until  we  come  away ! 


BETTER    THAN    BEAUTY. 

Ye  may  [)niisc  the  clianns  of  a  beautiful  face, 

And  dream  of  a  fairy  fomi, 
For  me,  I  earc  not  for  outward  grace, 

If  the  Iieart  be  true  and  warm  ; 
The  witching  ghinces  which  beauty  throws, 

Enchantingly  bright  may  be, 
But  the  eye  where  love's  warm  sunshine  glows. 

Is  dearer  by  far  to  me ! 

Ye  may  tell  of  lips  like  the  coral's  hue 

Or  rose-buds  wet  with  showers. 
But  a  lip  whose  breathings  are  fond  and  true, 

Be  mine,  in  my  sadder  hours, — 
For  when  by  sorrow  too  deeply  stirred 

My  lonely  heart  may  be. 
From  loving  lii)3  one  gentle  word 

Is  happiucss  to  me ! 


BETTER   TUAX    BEAUTV. 

Ye  may  tell  of  hands  whicli  are  small  and  slight, 

All  damtily  smooth  and  fair, 
Whose  taper  fingers  are  soft  and  white 

As  the  lily's  petals  are. 
But  a  hand  that  will  answer  my  own  close  clasp 

Fondly  and  ferveu'ly, 
"With  a  cordial  wai-mth  in  its  frieiidly  grasp, 

Is  deiirer  by  far  to  me  ! 

Ah,  beauty  has  magical  charms,  if  seen 

In  lip,  or  brow,  or  eye, 
But  a  sweeter  beauty  than  this,  I  ween, 

In  the  hidden  heart  mny  lie  ;  — 
And  lovely  a  face  with  beauty's  glow 

To  other  eyes  may  be, 
But  a  beautiful  face  with  no  heart  below 

Seems  mockery  to  me  ! 


SEVENTEEN. 

Skvknteks-  long  j-curs  agit!  ami  still 

The  liilloi-k  newly-lu-aiieil  I  seo, 
Wliioh  likl  beneath  its  heavy  ehiU 

One  who  has  never  ilii-il  to  me ;  — 
And  since,  the  leaves  which  o'er  it  wave 

Have  Ikimi  kept  green  hy  raining  tears ; 
Stniiige  liow  the  shallow  of  a  grave 

Could  fall  across  so  many  years  ! 

Seventeen  long  years  ago !     No  cross, 

Xo  urn  nor  monument  is  there, 
But  drooping  leaves  and  starry  moss 

Bend  a-jH\y  in  the  summer  air  ; 
The  one  I  woidd  have  died  to  save 

Slecp<  sweetly,  free  from  griefs  and  fears 
Strange  how  the  shadow  of  a  gnive 

Could  fall  across  so  many  years  ! 


Seventeen  long  years  ago !     I  see 

The  hand  I  held  so  long  in  vain. 
The  lips  I  pressed  despairingly 

Because  they  answered  not  again  : 
I  see  again  the  shining  wave 

Of  the  dark  hair  be-gemmed  with  tears. 
Strange  how  the  shadow  of  a  grave 

Could  fall  across  so  many  years ! 

Seventeen  long  years  ago  !     The  hand 

Then  fondly  clasped,  still  holds  my  own, 
Leading  me  gently  to  the  land 

Where  storm  and  shadow  are  unknown  ; 
The  summons  which  I  gladly  crave 

Will  come  like  music  to  my  ears, 
And  the  chill  shadow  of  the  grave 

Be  changed  to  light,  ere  many  years ! 


"THE    GOOD    TIME    COMING." 

I  SAW  her  on  the  sidewalk  yesterday, 

Tripping  along  with  brisk  and  airy  tread 
Over  the  new-fallen  snow,  which  thinly  lay 

Along  lier  path ;  —  she  raised  her  pretty  head. 
Bringing  to  view  a  very  lovely  face. 

And  casting  a  coquettish  glance  aronnd, 
She  set  her  foot  ii|K)n  a  treacherous  place 

And  down  she  went,  astonished  to  the  ground  I 
Down,  —  yet  no  sooner  down  than  up  again 

With  an  elastic  spring  the  fair  one  came,  — 
And  such  a  rosy  rising !     I  maintain 

I've  seen  Aurora  wrap  the  east  in  flame 
With  blush  less  buniing  ;  —  but  with  glad  surprise 
I  joyed  that  woman  had,  at  last,  a  ^^ chance  to  rite! 


ALL  IE. 

'T  IS  a  bleak  November  nigbt, 

Fraugbt  with  storm  and  cloud  and  glow, 
But  the  tire  bums  -wann  luid  bright 

In  my  cosy  little  room ; 
I  am  sitting  here  alone, 

And  the  patter  of  the  rain, 
And  the  wind's  complaining  sound 

"Wake  strange  echoes  in  my  brain  ; 
Oh,  if  you  were  only  here, 
Allic,  dear! 

Shadows  quiver  to  and  fro 

On  the  wall  in  seeming  glee, 
And  ripe,  red-cheeked  apples  glow 

In  the  firelight  temptingly  ; 
Just  across  the  heart-rug  tlierc 

Is  a  most  inviting  seat,  — 
An  old-fashioned  easy-chair 

And  a  cushion  for  j-our  feet ; 
Oh,  if  you  were  only  here, 
AlUe,  dear! 


117 


I  ciiii  almost  see  you  now 

Sitting  in  that  civ<y-chair 
With  a  smile  upon  your  brow 

Such  as  only  yon  can  wear ; 
With  your  large,  shy  loving  eyes 

SaiMeneJ  Iiy  no  thought  of  care, 
While  the  golden  firelight  lies 

Crown-like  on  your  shining  hair; 
Ah,  niethiuks  you  must  be  here, 
Allie.  dear! 

But  the  vision  fades  away  ;  — 

I  am  sitting  here  alone, — 
And  the  firelight's  fading  ray 

Shines  a  moment  and  is  gtme. 
Vacant  stands  the  cjisy-chair, 

Fled  is  tlie  illusion  sweet. 
But  upon  the  window  there 

Still  the  beating  rain-drops  bent. 
And  I  still  wish  you  were  here, 
Allie.  dear ! 


118 


OXE    >'IGHT. 

Datlight  had  waned,  slowlr  and  gloomflr. 

Dying  as  though  unwilling  to  depart, 
And  heavier  clouds  than  draped  the  fix)wning  skj. 

Hung  darklj  round  mj  heart. 

For  the  sweet  angel-presence,  kindly  giren 

By  the  Good  Father, — like  a  thought  of  Him. 

To  form  one  UnV  between  my  heart  and  heaven. 
Was  growing  fiunt  and  dim. 

She  was  my  all; — her  hand  the  oidy  stay 
That  held  me  to  the  earth ;  —  in  agony 

I  felt  its  grasp  grow  weaker,  day  by  day,  — 
How  coidd  I  see  her  die  ? 

I  laid  the  white  face  from  my  lips  away, 

And  folded  the  pale  hands  away  from  mine. 

And  with  a  choking  effort,  strove  to  say 
"  Lord,  not  my  will,  but  Thine  !  " 


But  duty  bowed  to  love,  that  dark  hour ; 

My  torn  lieart,  slirinking  from  the  bitter  cup, 
Closed  round  its  idol  with  a  passionate  power. 

And  would  not  yield  it  up. 

WTicn  suddenly  methought  the  veil  was  riven 
That  liides  the  mystie  future  from  our  eyes, 

And  strangely  to  my  wondering  gaze  were  given 
Its  mighty  mysteries. 

I  saw  a  wanderer  with  weary  tread 
Toiling  along  life's  rough  uneven  way, 

"Wlience  cares  and  griefs,  like  shadows  dark  and  dread, 
Obscured  each  cheering  ray. 

Long  years  of  time  and  trial  had  laid  waste 
The  fresh  pure  diarms  which  youth  had  gloried  in, 

And  on  the  lip  and  cheek  and  brow  were  traced 
•Sorrow  and  eiirc  and  sin. 

Along  the  nigged  pathway,  hard  and  steep, 
The  pilgrim  wandered,  in  the  darkness  wild. 

And  as  she  turned  her  face  aside  to  weep, 
I  knew  it  was  my  child! 

The  vision  passed  ;  —  and  I  was  bending  still 
Beside  the  pillow  of  the  suffering  one ; 

The  little  hiuid  in  mine  was  yet  more  chill. 
The  breathing  almost  done. 


OSK    XI<:ilT. 

Calm,  —  almost  thankful.  —  without  word  or  sigL 
From  the  white  brow  I  wii)o«1  the  gathering  dew* 

When  like  o  harp-sote  floating  from  on  liigli 
Came  the  low  whisper — "Choose I" 

Then  from  my  brvast  1  laid  tlie  drooping  head. 

And  foldeti  the  (lale  luuub  awaj  from  mine. 
And  calmly,  without  tear  or  struggle,  said, 

••  Lord,  not  mg  will  but  Thine  !  " 


'TRUE    LOVE    CAN    NE'ER    FORGET. 

On,  say  not  love  made  your  pathway  pleasant 
With  bloMcd  radiance  in  days  gone  by, — 

The  love  that  is  pa.-it  was  never  present, 
For  true  love's  brightness  can  never  die  ! 

I  have  no  fiiitli  in  transient  passion. 

How  true  soever  it  seem  to  be, 
^\'hi^.•h.  like  a  bonnet,  goes  out  of  ftishion. 

As  soon  as  it  loses  its  novelty. 

I  know  there  .are, — and  their  name  is  legion, — 
Who  look  tlirough  vapors  and  darkness  far, 

To  where  in  its  own  pure  cloudless  region, 
Is  the  holy  shining  of  love's  sweet  star ; 

And  eager  to  clasp  the  coveted  glory. 
They  wander  wide  in  a  fruitless  ([uesf, 

And  like  the  spirit  in  Bible  storj , 

Walk  through  dry  places,  and  tind  no  rest ; 


"  TRUE  LOVE  CAN  NE  ER  FORGET. 

Till  seeing  a  fire-fly's  fickle  glancing, 
They  follow  its  fitful  briglitness  far,  — 

'Tis  gained,  —  and  they  cry  with  joy  entrancing, 
"  Eureka !  see,  I  have  found  the  star ! " 

Its  light  is  feeble  and  faint  and  dying  — 
Grows'  daily  dimmer  and  fades  at  last, 

And  then  they  say,  with  a  transient  sighing, 

"  Once,  love  was  mine,  —  but  the  charm  is  past ! 

But  not  by  the  loss  is  life  o'erclouded,  — 
The  heart  is  light  as  before  it  came. 

Or,  if  a  moment  by  sorrow  shrouded, 
Soon  re-illumed  by  another  flame. 

Oh,  fools  and  blind !  that  an  insect's  shining 
Can  lure  your  eyes  from  the  star  above ! 

That  ye  follow  and  clasp  it,  ne'er  divining 
Its  radiance  is  not  the  light  of  love ! 

While  love,  true  love,  from  its  holy  station. 
Not  changeful,  though  mortals  deem  it  so. 

Looks  down  with  a  smile  of  sweet  compassion. 
On  the  poor  mistaken  souls  below ! 

Then  say  not  love  made  your  pathway  pleasant 
With  transient  radiance,  in  days  gone  by, 

The  love  that  is  past  was  never  present, 
For  true  love's  brightness  can  never  die ! 


TO    MY    MAMF.SAKK. 


Let  trust  no  more  to  the  cheat  be  given, 
But  lift  your  eyes  through  the  darkness  far 

To  where,  fi-om  its  own  unelouded  heaven, 
Floats  down  the  glory  of  love's  pure  star ! 


TO    MY,  NAMESAKE. 


And  have  they  called  thee  by  my  name,  sweet  child? 

To  nie  it  had'no  sound  of  harmony 
Till  since  thou  hast  beneath  its  burden  smiled, — 

I  las  it  not  caught  new  melody  from  thee  ? 
Some  names  bring  blessings  with  them  ;  —  if  this  be 

Of  those,  a  double  share  of  joys  is  thine, 
For  it  lias  wasted  none  of  them  on  vie  ;  — 

Thy  young  pure  heart  deserves  them  more  than  mine. 
I  had  despaired  of  greatness,  —  my  interests 

Aspired  not  to  the  lofty  or  sublime. 
And  dreamed  not  of  renown,  —  but  when,  years  hence, 

As  faith  declares  will  be  revealed  by  time. 
Thou  to  the  laurel-crown  hast  proved  thy  claim, 
My  name, — for  it  is  Uiine. — will  grace  "the  scroll  of  Fame  I 


TO   A    SINGER. 

Daihibtcs  of  Melodj  I 
The  ckv  ;mA  aute»  of  tk  j  s«itriB|>  jtnu* 
Fall  bark  oq  uy  b^teniag  httiut  aptia 
A*  tbv  first  t>ri^  drvp»  «f  tiie  silver  rata 

Oh  tiw;  (»«««  (^  titer  qukt  $«a ! 

Ctiild  ot  iIk  ««»|>1i  strain  ! 
Ttwa  vht>  »w««r{M»t  Hj  full  ti*»rc'«  stna^ 

8c«tteti*j$  iIm!  MfTv«  iluu  rututoi  iluKai  elia^-s 
Siiij  to  mue  vctae  a^aia! 

DMfkwr  of  muir,  e«M« ! 
Cfl«e  OMv  MOK  wjtk  tkj  wit«kiMg  Maf 
Twfhh^  mj  raft  mwT*  ekutib  ahwg; 
TUl  care  k»  forgxKttw,  anil  grii<  awl  wraa;;, 

lliik«  in  Bijr  hreojt  iky  Imbw  ! 


G» 


C<MK«<    unl    >nnti>l 

..«.{  tons 

Ftattt&«(ii- 

aw  •-norningljn^ 

XUtltawti. 

-.TtUK  'JKhl 

tt  tte  ^Mikinii^  ^uaiiLs  . 

a  avi>~*--l»"nf ««»'«. 

rU  lunm  %  nutpu  «u^. 

Ttek  won  nut  tiuniMU  tor  outh,  ^- 
Aaitpiit*  hv'i  :<>;s  — 


TO    ONE    OF    LITTLE    FAITH. 

Doubt  me  not,  oh,  timid  heart, 
Though  our  paths  lie  far  apart. 
And  though  long  our  parting  be, 
If  you  love  me,  trust  in  me! 

My  deep  love,  undimmed,  can  bear 
Time  and  distance,  grief  and  care, 
But  distrust  its  death  would  be,  — 
If  you  love  me,  trust  in  me  ! 

Doubt  me  not,  beloved  !  thougli  far 
Vast  and  wide  beween  us  are 
Miles  of  prairie,  leagues  of  sea. 
If  you  love  me,  trust  in  me  ! 

Though  long  years  may  leave  their  trace. 
Ere  we  meet,  on  heart  and  face. 
Dare  not  doubt  my  constancy,  — 
If  you  love  me,  trust  in  me  ! 

Tempt  me  not  to  think  your  heart 
Has  of  love's  high  faith  no  part,  — 
This  the  proving  test  shall  be. 
If  you  love  me,  trust  in  me! 


TWICE-TOLD, 

There  is  something  I  would  tell  you 
If  it  would  not  make  you  frown, 

If  it  would  not  bring  so  closely 

lloiind  your  face  those  tresses  brown, 

If  it  would  not  make  your  lashes 
Uroop  so  beautifully  down  ! 

There  is  something  I  would  ask  you 
If  I  thought  you'd  answer  "  Yes,"  — 

If  you  would  not  coldly  scatter 
All  my  daring  dreams  of  bliss. 

If  you'd  crown  with  sweet  approval 
All  my  hopes  of  happiness ! 

May  I  whisper  ?    "Wliat  I'd  tell  you 
Is,  —  /  love  yoM, — you  alone,  — 

What  I'd  ask  you  is,  —  oh,  dearest 
Will  you,  —  ipttt  you  be  mine  own  ? 

Nay,  look  up,  —  I've  only  told  you 

Something  which  you  long  have  known  ! 


A   PORTRAIT. 

She  is  all  angles,  —  and  her  tliin  hair  stays 

Tortured  in  many  a  quaint  elaborate  crook,  — 
Just  where  't  is  placed ;  and  in  the  hottest  days 

Her  sharp  face  has  a  pinched,  half-frozen  look ; 
The  "  milk  of  human  kindness  "  in  her  heart 

Soured  before  the  cream  rose  ;  —  probably 
■  T  was  the  reflection  of  her  face,  in  part, 

Which  caused  the  metamorphosis,  —  ah,  me, 
Tartaric  acid  never  was  so  tart 

As  heart  and  face  combined  are  wont  to  be ! 
Her  voice  is  audible  vinegar,  boiled  do^vn, 
And  oh,  if  thafs  a  smile,  heaven  save  me  from  her  frown  1 


129 


MY    WIFE    AND    CHILD. 

I  DKF.AM  ;  — my  gentle  wife  is  ncar,- 

A  girlish  figure,  small  and  slight ; 
Say,  shall  I  sketch  her  picture,  ere 

She  passes  out  of  sight  ? 
Hers  is  no  beauty  strange  and  rare, 

Fashioned  by  rapturous  poet's  rule ; 
All  hearts  might  deem  her  very  fair, 

And  not  one,  beautiful. 
Not  beautiful  to  painters'  eye.'. 
Because  her  noblest  beauty  lies 
Not  in  her  features'  faultless  grace, 
But  the  sweet  meaning  of  her  face. 

A  look  of  patient  gentleness 
On  lip  and  brow  serenely  lies ; 

And  oh,  a  world  of  tenderness 
Shines  softly  in  her  sunny  eyes ! 

Her  lips  —  to  me  no  "rose-buds  wet" 
One  half  so  beautiful  could  be, 


MY    WIFE    AND    CHILD. 

I  love  them  that  they  never  yet 

Spoke  one  unloving  word  to  me. 
There  is  a  sweet  and  nameless  grace 
Floating  around  her  form  and  face,  — 
The  beauty  of  a  lofty  soul 
Illumes  and  beautifies  the  whole. 

And  when  the  tiresome  day  is  gone 
And  the  sweet  evening  time  comes  on, 
And  wearied  out  with  toil  and  care, 
I  sink  into  my  study-chair,  — 
Closing  my  eyes  to  curtain  out 
The  vexing  shapes  of  fear  and  doubt, — 
A  tiny  foot,  with  noiseless  glide 
Comes  stealing  softly  to  my  side  — 
Bright  curls  adown  my  shoulders  twine. 
And  little  fingers  hide  in  mine  ;  — 
Oh,  I  can  meet,  with  dauntless  heart, 

The  sternest,  darkest  ills  of  life, 
With  such  a  guardian  as  thou  art 

My  own  beloved  wife  ! 

My  child !  my  darling  bright-eyed  boy ! 

A  happy,  laughter-loving  sprite. 
Whose  heart  is  mirth,  whose  life  is  joy, 

Undimmed  by  shade  or  blight, 
lie  has  his  mother's  curls  of  gold, 

Ilis  laugh  has  just  her  ringing  tone, 


MY    WIFE   AND    CUILD. 

And  in  his  features  I  behold 

The  softened  likeness  of  my  own. 
And  gazing,  oft  I  wander  back 
Along  my  boyhood's  flowery  track,  — 
I  roam  again  beside  the  stream, 
I  see  again  the  jiebbles  gleam, 
And  stooping,  see,  or  seem  to  see 
My  face  reflected  back  to  me ! 

My  wife  and  child!  my  all  on  earth! 

Oh,  what  were  life,  bereft  of  them  ? 
Reside  their  love,  how  little  worth 

Seems  glorj-'s  brightest  diadem  ! 
My  wife  and  child!  —  these  arc  the  charms 

Which  makes  mc  cling  to  earth,  —  I  rise 
To  circle  them  in  love's  fond  arms, 

And  in  the  act,  —  unclose  my  eyes. 

Where,  where  am  I  ?  and  where  are  they  ? 

.iVlas,  the  dream  has  pa*;ed  away  ! 

I  sit  here  in  my  darkening  room, 

Alone  amid  the  dusky  gloom,  — 

Ay,  all  alone,  —  no  wife,  no  child, — 

A  day-dream  hath  my  heart  beguiled  ;  — 

Alas,  that  airy  fancy's  sway 

Should  pl.-iy  this  roguish  trick  with  mc  ! 
My  wife  and  child,  I  sigh  to  say. 

Are  yet  —  alas  !  —  are  yet  to  be  ! 


RE-UNITED. 

Where  upon  a  silent  shore 
Sobbing  surges  evermore 
Beat  and  break  in  blinding  teai-s, 
Watched  I,  with  despairing  fears  ; 

Seeing  two,  in  youth's  bright  glow 
Wandering  wearily  and  slow, 
Clasping  closely  liand  in  hand, 
O'er  the  waste  of  yielding  sand. 

One  a  proud  and  noble  youth 
With  a  heart  of  love  and  truth, 
And  with  early  manhood's  grace 
Mantling  o'er  his  fonn  and  face ; 

One  a  young  and  timid  bride 
Clinghig  fondly  to  his  side, 
With  the  orange-blossoms  fair 
Yet  unwithcred  in  her  hair. 


133 


Young  and  hopeful,  loved  and  fair, 
"Why  so  sadly  walked  they  there, 
Thus  with  brief  uneven  breath 
By  the  surging  sea  of  death  ? 

Solemnly  and  silently 

Passed  they  toward  the  heaving  sea, 

And  at  last  with  weary  feet, 

Stood  where  bcacli  and  billow  meet. 

From  the  shadow  evermore 
Shrouding  all  the  other  shore, 
Slowly,  without  oju*  or  sail 
Came  a  boatman,  chill  and  pale. 

Softly  came  the  boat  to  land 
Where  ujxin  the  crumbling  sand, 
Waiting  calmly,  side  by  side 
Stood  the  bridegroom  and  his  bride. 

Then  with  pale  but  smiling  face. 
Gently  from  its  soft  embrace 
He  unwound  her  clasping  arm. 
And  hia  voice  was  clear  and  calm  : 

"  Fare  thee  well,  beloved  !     I  go 
With  the  boatman,  pale  as  snow  ; 
Fare  thee  well  I  —  beyond  the  tide 
Will  I  wait  for  thee,  my  bride  ! " 


KE-UNITED. 

"  Stay  ! "  she  pleaded,  tearfully, 
"  Dearest,  let  me  go  with  thee  ! " 

But  his  lip,  as  hers  it  met 

Whispered  tenderly  —  "  Not  yet ! " 

Paler  grew  his  beaming  face 
As  he  gave  the  last  embrace. 
And  the  pallid  shadow  fell 
On  the  brow  he  loved  so  well. 

Then  with  loving  fingers  fair 
Smoothed  she  back  his  dewy  hair, 
Whispering  —  "Across  the  sea. 
Soon,  beloved,  I  foUow  thee  ! " 

They  were  parted  ;  silently 
Moved  the  boat  across  the  sea. 
While  the  youth,  across  the  tide 
Beckoned  to  his  waiting  bride. 

Listening  and  waiting  there 
Slowly  she  unbound  her  hair, 
And  from  out  its  sunny  curls 
Shook  the  flowers  and  stringed  pearls. 

Slowly  passed  the  hours  away 
As  she  sat  beneath  the  spray. 
Singing  soft  a  mournful  note, 
Waiting  the  returning  boat. 


KE-UNITED. 

Soon  it  floated  to  her  feet, 
And  her  voiee  was  yet  more  sweet 
As  she  sung  triumphantly, 
'  Now,  beloved,  I  come  to  thee ! " 

Slowly  from  the  crumbling  shore, 
Moved  tlie  boat  as  once  before. 
And  her  voice,  the  waves  along 
Changed  into  an  angel's  song  ; 

As  the  mist  forever  more 
Shrouding  all  the  other  shore 
Parted  clearly  to  my  view 
And  the  spirit-boat  went  through, 

Melting  softly  from  my  sight 

In  a  flood  of  living  light, 

Aiid  u[)on  the  other  side 

Mel  the  bridegroom  and  his  bride. 


ffiiK  ^ane  aoll  now  niltm^  mr  ^xnr. 

A  aiBnfl  aibHt  I  ifaafl  pnt^^fifl  m  .cbs^ 
Im  mnnb.  itHiFoi]^  ifi£e  f  innoBrtaaD  way. 


IIPAITIAIITT. 


A^o-erk 


h  the  feUi  of  Ike  Infy  . 


Aai  waich  ker  km^ng  the  dntf 


lUt  «r  al  the  tagi  I  Ime  MM  ker  so. 


IkoMrheri 


IMPARTIALTTT. 

To  meet  her  coming,  a  tiny  bead 

That  seems  all  mouth,  pops  up  from  its  bed, 

And  ere  the  gaping  thing  is  fed, 

Another,  and  yet  another ; 
And  then,  with  strict  exactitude 
She  weighs  and  divides  the  precious  food, 
Giving  part  to  each  of  her  hungry  brood,  — 

A  just,  impartial  mother  ! 

I  wish  Dame  Fortune,  who  goes  her  way 
Over  the  wide  world,  day  by  day, 
Dispensing  as  sheer  caprice  may  say. 

The  gifts  which  are  hers  to  scatter, — 
Sowing  them  broadcast,  devoid  of  rule, 
And  in  a  manner  provokingly  cool, 
Giving  always  some  knave  or  fool 

By  far  the  best  of  the  matter  ; 

Giving  fame  to  one,  and  wealth  to  two, 
And  happiness  to  a  blessed  few. 
And  nothing  to  me,  and  ditto  to  you, 

In  such  a  pai'tial  fashion,  — 
Would  come  to  the  window  here  with  me, 
And  watch  the  nest  in  the  swinging  tree, 
And  learn  of  the  mother-bird  to  be 

More  just  in  her  distribution ! 


BOTH    SIDES    OP    THE    aUESTION. 

THE    SIDE    AI'l'AIlENT. 

All,  iltarcst,  I  Imve  love  J  jou  long  and  well, 

Your  lovely  face  to  ine  perfection  seems, 
Your  gentle  voice,  a  musical  underswell, 

Mingles  all  sweetly  with  my  tide  of  dreams  ;  — 
^;iy,  will  you  miike  my  home  a  jjaradisc  ? 

He  Eve  within  my  Eden,  dearest  one  ? 
Should  sorrow  eome,  I'll  kiss  from  your  soft  eyes 

The  tears,  and  grieve  because  you  grieve,  my  own  ! 
Our  lives  shall  pass  like  the  sweet  days  of  June, 

Full  of  bright  blossoms  and  bird-melody. 
Love  in  our  hearts  shall  sing  its  sweetest  tune. 

And  every  throb  repeat  ita  harmony ! 
Yes,  dearest !  be  my  own,  my  worshipped  wife  I 
Your  love  shall  be  my  bliss,  —  your  luippiness,  my  life  ! 


•to  BOTH    SIDES    OF   THE    QUESTION. 

THE       SIDE       TUANSPARENT. 

Dearest!  resign  this  life  of  careless  joy 

For  the  stem  duties  of  a  married  life ! 
Leave  books  and  songs  for  practical  employ, 

And  be,  in  all  respects,  a  pattern  wife ! 
Consent  your  every  girlish  taste  to  doff,  — 

To  practice  sweeping  floors  and  making  pies. 
To  sew  on  buttons  ere  their  coming  off, 

And  come  what  may,  meet  me  with  smiling  eyes  ! 
And  more,  —  agree  to  yield  up  every  friend, 

Excepting  such  as  I  shall  signify, 
To  stay  indoors  from  year's  end  to  year's  end. 

And  never  think  yourself  abused  thereby  ! 
In  short,  my  dear,  by  uttering  one  sweet  word, 
Make  me,  your  humblest  slave,  your  master  andyour  lord! 


1 


THE    LIVING. 

I  WREP  no  lonf»cr  for  the  dead, 
My  trars  are  for  tlie  living  shed, — 
Tlic  living,  whose  o'envearied  feet 
A  dark  and  tliomy  pathway  beat, — 
The  living,  who  in  shame  and  sin, 
Eclipse  the  light  that  might  have  been  ; 
The  living,  who  so  wildly  crave 
Tho  tcarlc38  quiet  of  the  grave ! 

I  weep  for  thee,  oh,  erring  one, 
Whose  deeds  of  good  are  all  undone,  — 
Wliom  all  love's  strivings  could  not  vrin 
Back  from  the  patlis  of  guilt  and  sin ; 
Thou  who  hast  wronged  a  true  heart's  tnis 
And  inxl  it,  bleeding,  in  the  dust,  — 
Oh,  lost  to  truth  and  purity 
I  weep  for  thcc,  —  I  weep  for  thee ! 


THE    LIVING. 

I  weep  for  thee,  oli,  suffering  heart, 
Wliose  fate  can  know  no  brighter  part,  — 
Left  to  the  darkness  of  despair, 
And  tried  beyond  its  strength  to  beai" ; 
Breaking  because  it  may  not  yield, 
Bruised  by  the  hand  that  should  have  liealed, 
Scorned,  slighted,  crushed  so  cruelly,  — 
I  weep  for  thee,  —  I  weep  for  thee  ! 

I  weep  for  thee,  oh  fair  young  child, 

Thrown  on  a  world  so  wide  and  wild, — 

Doomed,  for  another's  sin,  to  stray 

Along  life's  darkest,  weariest  way ;  — 

Born  to  no  heritage  but  tears, 

And  toil,  and  pain,  through  all  life's  years,  — 

Oh,  heir  of  grief  and  poverty, 

I  weep  for  thee,  —  I  weep  for  thee  ! 

I  weep  no  longer  for  the  dead  ;  — 
The  wind  sings  sweetly  o'er  their  bed 
A  soothing  hymn  —  a  lulling  tune, — 
They  sleep — they  rest, — oh,  blessed  boon  ! 
Better  that  those  for  wliom  I  weep 
"Were  lying  in  their  graves  asleep ! 
Oh,  no  !  —  I  weep  not  for  the  dead,  — 
My  tears  are  for  the  living  shed ! 


LET    ME    IN. 

Whkn  the  summer  evening's  shadows 

Veiled  the  earth's  calm  bo.-iom  o'er, 
Ciune  a  young  child,  faint  and  wcarj-, 

Tai>ping  at  a  cottage  door ; 
'  Wandering  through  the  winding  wood-paths 

My  worn  feet  too  long  have  been  ; 
Let  mc  in,  oh,  gentle  mother. 
Let  nic  in  !  " 

Years  passed  on  ;  his  eager  spirit 

Gladly  watched  the  flying  hours ; 
'  I  am  tired  of  childish  trifling, 

I  am  tired  of  birds  and  flowers ; 
I  will  seek  the  bands  of  pleasure, 

I  will  join  their  merry  din  ; 

I^t  me  in  to  joy  and  gladness, 

Let  mc  in  ! " 

Years  sped  on  ;  yet  vainly  yearning 
Murmured  still  the  restless  heart ; 
'  I  am  tired  of  heartless  folly. 
Let  the  glittering  cheat  depart ; 


LET    ME    IN. 

I  have  found  in  worldly  pleasure 

Nought  to  happiness  akin  ; 
Let  me  in  to  love's  warm  presence, 
Let  me  in  ! " 

Years  flew  on  ;  a  j-outh  no  longer 

Still  he  owned  the  restless  heart ; 
'  I  am  tired  of  love's  soft  durance, 

Sweet-voiced  charmer,  we  must  piu-t 
I  will  gain  a  laurel  chaplef. 

And  a  world's  applause  will  win ; 
Let  me  in  to  fame  and  glory, 
Let  me  in  !  " 

Years  fled  on  ;  the  restless  spirit 

Never  found  the  bliss  it  sought; 
Answered  hopes  and  granted  blessings 

Only  new  aspirings  brought ; 

'  I  am  tired  of  earth's  vain  glory, 

I  am  tired  of  grief  and  sin  ; 

Let  me  in  to  rest  eternal. 

Let  me  in  ! " 

Thus  the  unquiet  yearning  spirit, 
Haunted  by  a  vague  unrest, 

Knocks  and  calls  at  every  gateway. 
In  a  vain  and  endless  quest ; 

Ever  striving  some  new  blessing 
Some  new  happiness  to  win, — 

At  some  portal  ever  saying, 
"  Let  me  in !  " 


TO    AN    IDEAL. 

I   SIT  within  my  chamber's  quiet  stillness, 

Thinking  sweet  thoughts,  dreaming  sweet  dreams  of  thre, 
(faring  not  for  the  darkness  or  the  chillncss, — 

Tliy  ferment  love  is  light  and  warmth  to  me  ! 

Till-  river  rolls  in  waves  of  starrys  plcndor, 

Following  its  shining  pathway  to  the  sea. 
Now  silent,  now  with  song  subdued  and  tender, 

As  flows  the  tide  of  my  deep  love  to  thee. 

1  love  thee !  never  have  the  woi"ds  been  spoken 
By  mortal  lips,  with  such  a  passionate  thrill. 

The  tic  that  binds  our  hearts  ran  ne'er  be  broken. 
The  liaq»  love's  hand  hath  swept  will  ne'er  be  still  I 

The  soiling  dust  that  dims  earth's  brightest  splendor, 
Clouils  not  the  stars,  which  far  above  it  shine. 

So  time  and  change,  through  dimming  love  less  tender. 
Reach  not  to  the  pure  heaven  of  thine  and  mine! 


146  TO    AN    IDEAL. 

Thy  thrilling  kiss  upon  my  lips  is  lyinj-, 

Thy  clasping  arm  is  still  around  me  thrown, 

Wliile  thy  dear  voice  falls  like  a  prophesying 

Upon  my  heart,  —  "  My  best  beloved  —  my  own  ! ' 

I  have  enough  of  bliss  ;  —  my  full  heart  trembles 
Like  a  bowed  lily  over-brimmed  with  dew. 

Or  haply  in  its  deep  delight  resembles 

A  day-star  drowning  in  the  morning's  blue 


OF    ONE  BELOVED. 

The  one  whom  we  have  loved  has  passed  along 
The  valley  of  the  shadow ;  even  now 

Faith  hears  the  echo  of  her  angel-song, 

And  sees  the  crown  of  light  upon  her  brow. 

Why  call  the  valley  dark  ?  —  No  shadowing 
()f  grief  or  gloom  on  her  fair  brow  has  place, - 

Dpftth's  gentle  angel  with  his  snowy  wing 
Has  swept  all  pain  and  sorrow  from  her  face. 

Why  call  the  valley  dark  ?  it  is  that  we 
lAX)k  on  it  through  a  veil  of  grief  the  while  ? 

It  was  not  dark  to  her,  —  it  could  not  be 
^Vhen  lighted  by  Our  Father's  loving  smile. 

Not  dark  to  her ;  while  those  she  held  most  dear. 
Wept  hopelessly,  with  tearful  eyes  cast  down. 

Her  lifted  eyes,  with  faith  undimmed  and  clear, 
Reheld  afar  the  triumph  and  the  crown ! 


1-18  OF    ONE    BELOVED. 

Tlieii-  eyes  are  tearful  —  hers  have  ceased  to  weep :  — 
Their  hearts  are  aching ;  —  hers  will  ache  no  more  ; 

For  she  hath  crossed  death's  ocean,  chill  and  deep, 
And  found  a  welcome  on  the  other  shore. 

As  star-beams  faint  in  morning  light  away, 
So  softly  have  life's  weary  wings  been  furled. 

And  as  I  gaze,  the  pale  lips  seem  to  say. 

Though  motionless  —  "At  peace  with  all  the  world  I 

I  know  that  when  ai'ound  the  lighted  hearth 
Ye  gather,  as  the  evening  hours  come  on, 

Like  a  soft  cloud  between  your  hearts  and  mirth 
Will  come  the  memory  of  the  absent  one. 

I  know  that  ye  will  watch  "  the  vacant  chair," 
And  gazing  dimly  through  your  gathering  tears 

Will  think  of  her  who  from  her  station  there, 
Looked  love  upon  you,  for  so  many  years. 

But  by  the  faith  which  is  a  joy  to  me. 
Cheering  me  on  my  way  of  grief  and  ill, 

1  know  the  one  ye  mourn  so  bitterly 

Tliough  all  unseen,  will  be  among  you  still. 

Unseen — yet  will  she  comfort  you,  and  bless, — 

Her  gentle  spirit,  to  its  mission  true, 
Will  love  and  cheer  and  guide  you  none  the  less 

Because  her  form  is  hidden  from  your  view. 


ALMOST    AN    ANGF.L. 


L^t  this  sweet  soluce  with  your  grieving  blend, 
And  give  your  nehing  bosoms  hope  and  peace  ;  - 

Tiiough  you  liavc  lost  your  deiirest  earthly  friend, 
Lo,  ye  have  gained  an  angel  in  her  place  ! 


ALMOST    AN     ANGEL. 


I   «■  ASXOT  say  she  hath  an  angel's  face, — 

I  never  saw  an  angel ;  but  it  seems 
She  is  akin  to  those  bright  forms  of  grace 

Which  sometimes  mingle  in  otir  holiest  dreams, 
There  is  no  worldliness  in  those  soft  eyes 

Whose  radiance  might  all  other  orbs  eclipse,  — 
No  trace  of  passion  on  the  fiiir  brow  lies. 

No  evil  line  around  the  sweet  red  lips. 
The  pure  cheek  never  hath  had  cause  to  blush, 

Therefore  'l  is  huelcss  as  a  lily  leaf, 
.Save  when  across  its  snow,  a  sudden  flush 

Flit<,  as  she  speaks,  with  coloring  faint  and  brief. 
Ah  I  there's  enough  of  angelhood  in  thee 
To  make  a  heaven  on  earth  for  some  one, —  but  —  not  me! 


THE    BROKEN    HOME. 

We  were  three  —  a  happy  circle,  bound  by  strong  and 

holy  ties, 
Father,  mother,  and  a  cherub  just  descended   from   the 

skies,— 
With  ii  heart  as  yet  undarkened  by  one   eartldy  stain  or 

trace. 
And  the  brightness  of  the  heaven  it  had  left,  upon  its  face. 

We  were  three  ;  and  softly  o'er  us  shone  the  morning  light 

of  hope. 
And  we  saw  bright  scenes  of  gladness  in  the  future  sweetly 

ope  ; 
Or  if  clouds  obscured  a  moment  the  calm  sunshine  of  our 

skies, 
No  dark  shade  of  doubt  or  distance  dimmed  the  light  of 

loving  eyes. 


THE    UKOKEN    HOME.  151 

Wo  wore  tliree,  —  but  one  has  waHJercJ  lar  iiilo  a  lorcign 

land, 
Lured    uwiiy    IVom    love's   sweet   presence,   and    iU    fond 

deUiining  hand. 
From  a  weiiUli  of  warm  alVeclion  which  ui  words  may  not 

be  toUl, 
Uy  tlie  mockin;;  hope  of  riclies,  and  the  dazzling  gleain  of 

goUl. 

We  were  three  ;  but  sadly  sundered  is  our  little  circle  now, 

Since  wc  miss  the  tender  meaning  printed  on  that  cher- 
ished brow  ; 

Absent  arc  the  clasping  fingers,  and  the  loving  eyes  whieii 
smileil 

With  an  canu-st  fond  afloction  on  l!ie  mother  and  her  child. 

Wo  are  two;  —  and  when  the  darkness  steals  along  the 
weary  earth, 

And  the  lonely  heart  most  deeply  feels  its  dreariness  and 
dearth, 

Uends  the  mother  o'er  her  infant  with  a  grief  too  deep  to 
spejik. 

While  warm  tear-drops  fall  unbidden  on  its  fair  uncon- 
scious cheek. 

Ah,  dear  wanderer,  doth  fancy  never  picture  to  thy  mind 
The  solitude  and  sorrow  of  the  lone  one  left  behind  ? 
Are   earth's   treasures  to  be   counted    all  her    tendemes-s 

above  ? 
Is  tlie  shining  gold  atonement  for  tlie  absence  of  her  love  ? 


152  THE   BROKEN    HOME. 

Time   hath   smiled   upon   thine  infant,  and  a  sweet  and 

nameless  grace 
Speaks  in  every  new  expression  dawning  o'er  her  dimpled 

face ;  — 
Is  the  glitter  of  the  treasure  which  around  thee  brightlv 

lies, 
Dearer  than  the  loving  radiance  smiling  in  her  soft  brown 

eyes? 

Hasten  your  slow  weary  motion,  oh  yc  laggard  wings  of 

time! 
Bring  the  absent  wanderer  swiftly,  safely  to  his  native 

clime,  — 
Re-united  then,  the  burden  of  our  joyful  song  shall  be 
Rising  gratefully  and    gladly  up   to  heaven  — "  We    are 

three ! " 


THE    PANTRY. 

Till*  is  the  pantrj',  —  and  from  floor  to  ceiling 

Are  ranp'd  the  plates  and  pans  in  piles  and  rows. 

Hilt  from  their  polished  sides  no  anthems  pealin}; 
Startle  the  boarders  from  their  morning  doze. 

Ah,  what  a  sound  of  crashes  and  vibrations 
Will  rise  when  Dinah,  with  her  cupboard  keys. 

Comes  down  to  make  the  breakfiu<t  preparation 
With  jinglinp  sjMions  and  crockei-y  symphonies  f 

I  licur,  even  now,  the  infuiite  loud  chorus, 

The  rattling  dishes  and  the  whistlinp;  steam,  — 

The  echoes  of  the  breakfasts  gone  before  us. 
Still  lingering  in  the  kitchen  like  n  dream. 

The  bursting  shell  of  lobsters  wrenched  sLsundor, 

The  hiiuing  stew-pan,  and  the  cla,shing  blade. 
And  with  a  sound  more  horrible  than  thunder, 
Tlie  stunning  gong,  when  breakfast  is  arrayed. 


}i  THE    PANTRY. 

It  is,  oh,  cook,  with  sudi  discordant  noises. 
With  such  accursed  instruments  as  these, 

Thou  drownest  slumber's  sweet  and  kindly  voices, 
And  jarrest  the  celestial  harmonies ! 

If  half  the  skill  we  lavish  on  our  dinners. 
If  half  the  time  we  pass  in  cookery's  courts, 

Were  spent  in  spreading  truth  and  saving  sinners, 
There  were  no  need  of  arsenals  or  forts. 

The  epicure's  should  be  a  name  abhorred, 
And  every  butcher  who  should  lift  again 

His  arm  to  strike  his  victim,  on  his  forehead, 
Should  wear  forever  more  the  curse  of  Cain. 

Down  the  long  dining-room,  with  soft  vibrations, 
The  echoing  sounds  grow  fainter  and  then  cease, 

And  at  each  chamber-door,  with  gentle  patience, 
A  voice  comes  saying,  "  Breakfast,  if  you  please ! 

We  go.     No  longer  from  the  kitchen's  portals 
The  din  of  pans  and  kettles  shakes  the  skies. 

But,  sweetest  sounds  on  earth  to  hungry  mortals. 
The  melodies  of  knives  and  forks  arise. 


MY    NAME, 

'  Arrni  roc   have  taken  vorii   xkw   sauk  amoxo  tuk  asgkls." 

In   tlie  laiul  wluTf  I  ;iiii  going 

AVla-ii  my  I'arlhly  life  is  o'er, 
AVhen  the  tired  Imiidj  ecase  their  striving 

And  tlic  tried  heart  aches  no  more  — 
In  that  land  of  light  and  beauty 

Where  no  shadow  ever  came 
To  o'ercloud  the  pcriect  glory,  — 

What  shall  be  my  angel  name  ? 

When  the  spirits  who  await  me 

Meet  me  at  my  entering  in, 
With  what  name  of  love  and  music 

Will  their  welcoming  begin  ? 
Not  the  one  so  dimmed  with  earth-stains, 

Linked  with  thoughts  of  grief  and  blame, — 
No, —  the  name  which  mortals  give  mo 

Will  not  be  my  angel  mune  ! 


MY    NAME 

I  liiive  heard  it  all  too  often 

Uttered  by  unloving  lips, — 
Eai'thly  cares  and  sins  and  sorrows 

Dim  it  with  their  dark  eclipse ;  — 
I  shall  change  it  like  a  gai-ment 

When  I  leave   this  mortal  frame, 
And  at  LilVs  immortal  baptism, 

I  shall  have  another  name ! 

For  the  angels  will  not  call  me 

By  the  name  I  bear  on  earth. 
They  will  speak  a  holier  language 

Where  I  have  my  holier  birth, 
Syllabled  in  heavenly  music 

Sweeter  far  than  earth  may  daini, 
Very  gentle,  pure  and  tender,  — 

Such  will  be  my  angel  name. 

It  has  thrilled  my  spirit  often 

In  the  holiest  of  my  dreams, 
But  its  beauty  lingers  with  me 

Only  till  the  morning  beams. 
"Weary  of  the  jarring  discord 

Which  the  lips  of  mortals  frame, 
When  shall  I,  with  joy  and  rapture, 

Answer  to  mv  angel  name? 


YOU    AND    ME. 

I  WISH,  «lcur  love,  we  had  a  world. 

A  world  that 's  all  our  own, 
Not  large  ciioiigli  for  wealth  and  power. 

Hut  just  ("or  us  alone  ; 
A  fairy  island  far  away 

In  somo  bright  southern  .sen, 
Where  skies  should  shine  and  earth  should  smlla 

Only  for  you  and  me,  dear  love, 
Only  for  you  and  me ! 

We  'd  luive  a  pretty  little  cot 

With  swallows  in  the  eavci, 
Whcit;  humming-birds  glance  in  and  out 

Among  the  whispering  leaves, 
A  home  of  music,  love  and  mirth 

With  brook  and  bird  and  bee, 
And  binLs  should  sing  and  bees  should  liism 

Only  for  you  and  me,  dear  love, 
Only  for  you  and  me  ! 


you    AND    ME. 

A  woodbine  with  caressing  arms 

Should  cling  about  our  door, 
And  sweet  wild-roses  on  the  air 

Their  fragrant  breath  should  pour ; 
The  sun  should  shine,  the  streams  should  sing 

The  flowers  bloom  gorgeously, 
And  all  should  sliine  and  sing  and  bloom 

Only  for  you  and  me,  dear  love, 
Only  for  you  and  me  ! 

A  livuig  fountain  near  our  home 

Should  make  us  music  rare. 
The  sparkles  of  its  shining  spray 

Cooling  the  fragrant  air ; 
We  'd  listen  oft  in  summer  eves 

Its  ringing  melody. 
Rejoicing  that  it  leaped  and  sang 

Only  for  you  and  me,  dear  love. 
Only  for  you  and  me  ! 

And  when  our  lives  had  flowed  along 

To  three-score  years  and  ten, 
The  length  of  days  the  Father  good 

Giveth  the  sons  of  men,  — 
One  in  our  death,  as  one  in  life. 

Our  mingled  hearts  should  be. 
For  death  should  come,  if  come  he  must. 

At  once  to  you  and  me,  dear  love, 
At  once  to  you  and  me ! 


YOU    AND    ME. 

Tlic  bosom  thou  liadst  leaned  upon 

So  tnistingly  in  life, 
Should  be  thy  pillow  ev'n  in  death, 

My  own  beloved  wife  ! 
Wc  'd  rest  within  one  quiet  grave  ' 

Beside  the  murmuring  sea, — 
A  grave  just  wide  and  deep  enough 

Only  for  you  and  me,  dear  love, 
Only  for  you  and  me ! 


OUR    AUTUMN. 

The  voice  of  Nature  singing  mournful  dirges 

For  the  departing  year, 
Like  the  loud  swelling  of  the  ocean's  surges, 

Falls  sadly  on  my  ear. 

October's  smile  the  reddening  hill  is  flushing 

With  transient  loveliness, 
And  rosily  the  forest-trees  are  blusliing 

Beneath  the  frost's  rude  kiss. 

Blossoms  and  bees  and  song-birds  have  departed 

From  this,  our  northern  land. 
And  dark  November,  chill  and  icy-hearted. 

Asserts  her  stem  command. 

In  warmer  climes,  the  smiling  sun  is  shedding 

A  flood  of  summer  beams, 
And  gorgeous  flowers  their  brilliant  leaves  are  spi-eading. 

By  ever-tinkling  streams. 


OUR    AUTUMN. 

There  sylvan  groves  arc  fadelessly  revcalii  g 

A  wililomess  of  bloom, 
Ixmding  the  breeze,  amid  their  shadows  stealing, 

AVilh  exquij^itc  iierfume. 

Yet  does  our  norlhem  winter  have  a  mission 

To  these  warm  iiearts  of  ours, 
Richer  than  all  the  blooming  and  fruition 

Flushing  the  land  of  llowers. 

It  gathers  up  the  gems  of  tender  feeling 

Forgot  in  summer's  mirth. 
And  scatters  them,  with  soft  and  bright  revealing, 

Around  the  soeial  hearth. 

So,  while  without  arc  winds  and  boisterous  wcnihe 

Yet,  safe  in  home's  repose. 
Our  northern  hearts  beat  lovingly  together. 

Through  all  the  time  of  snows. 

Therefore  the  voice  of  Nature,  singing  dirges 

For  the  departing  year, 
Like  the  loud  swelling  of  the  ocean's  surges. 

Is  music  to  my  car. 


MY    BABIES. 

Twin  blossoms  in  a  field  of  single  flowers 

Like,  yet  unlike ;  —  each  lovely  in  itself, 

Yet  borrowing  beauty  of  its  counterpart,  — 

Such  were  my  babies  when  I  looked  on  them, 

And  thus  I  dream  of  them, — close  linked  with  thoughts 

Of  doves,  Lambs,  lihes,  and  all  innocent  things. 

Lucy  had  laughing  eyes,  which  danced  and  shone, 
Brimming  with  baby  mirth  and  playfulness, — 
And  her  sweet  voice  was  round  and  musical 
As  a  young  robin's  warble,  when  be  first 
Learns  the  full  value  of  the  gift  of  song. 
And,  swinging  on  a  spray  of  trembling  leiives, 
Eocked  softly  by  the  sportive  morning  wind,  — 
With  dewy  wing  half  spread  and  quivering, 
Opens  his  golden  throat,  and  seems  to  fling 
His  soul  into  his  music  ;  —  and  her  laugh, 
A  baby's  laugh,  —  the  gladdest  sound  on  earth, 


MY    DAniES.  10. 

Was  full  of  summer  melody  nnd  plea 

As  the  clear  tinkle  of  ii  rain-lmm  Iirook 

Flowinj'  nlonj;  among  loose  pcbble-stonen, 

Ami  through  long  grass,  nnd  over  drowning  flowers. 

Methought  her  heart  was  of  those  happy  ones 

Elastic.  gl."id  and  hopeful.  —  formed  to  sec 

Only  the  sparkles  on  the  eup  of  life, 

Unmindful  of  the  bitter  dregs  below,  — 

To  sing  gay  ballads  and  sweet  loving  songs, 

■Wliicli  leave  no  mournful  echo  in  the  soul. 

Lizzie  was  sliglit  nnd  delicate ;  in  her  eyes 
There  shone  a  light  like  star-shine  after  rain. 
Dewy  nnd  deep  and  tender;  from  their  depths 
Ivooked  out  the  soul  of  woman,  even  then, — 
Full  of  a  sweet  yet  mournful  projihecy, 
Iladinnt  with  smiles,  yet  ripe  for  raining  tears. 
And  when  she  smiled,  the  dimples  came  and  danced 
And  deepened  in  her  cheek,  and  round  her  lips, 
Like  whirlpools  in  deep  water.     As  I  gazed 
It  seemed  to  me  that  hers  was  one  of  tliosc 
Earnest  yet  delicate  natures, —  finely  turned, — 
Fragile,  yet  strong  to  suflTer  and  endure, — 
Timid  and  sensitive,  and  yet  sublime 
In  their  impassioned  deep  intensity,  — 
Such  as  God  leads  through  dark  and  weary  ways, 
Making  them  perfect  through  much  suffering. 


MT    BABIES. 

Here,  as  has  been  my  habit,  I  have  called 

These  sweet  twin-children  mine ;  but  though  my  soul 

Yearns  towards  them  with  a  love  and  tenderness 

Such  as  to  aching  fills  a  mother's  heart, 

Thrilling  it  with  a  deep  delicious  pam,  — 

For  her  first-born,  —  still,  they  are  not  mine  own  :  — 

God  gave  them  to  another,  —  who  will  smile 

And  pardon  me  that  my  full  heart  speaks  out 

And  calls  them  my  dear  babies,  —  for  they  are 

By  love's  sweet  spirit  of  adoption,  mine. 

She  will  forgive  me,  too,  if  in  my  dreams, 

Lizzie's  soft  eyes  smile  oftenest  back  to  mine, 

And  Lizzie's  head  lies  oftenest  on  my  breast. 

Her  own  heart  tells  her  why,  like  liim  of  old, 

I  love  not  one  less,  but  the  other  more  ! 

God  bless  my  babies !  I  could  almost  weep 
That  when  they  shall  have  grown  to  womanhood 
Their  hearts  will  shrine  no  memory  of  her 
Who  held  them  on  her  bosom  for  a  day 
And  then  departed.     This  is  selfish,  weak,  — 
I  will  not  stain  my  blessing  with  these  tears  ;  — 
Mayhap  my  arms  will  circle  them  again, 
And  mayhap,  never.     Let  it  be  or  no ; 
God  bless  my  babies  ! 


166 


A   BRACE    OP    SONNETS. 


I  'vK  noted  oft,  nnd  not  witliotit  surprise 

How  true  it  is  of  each  and  every  one, 
'ITiat  Ix-auty  dwelkth  in  the  gazer's  eves 

Rather  than  in  the  features  giucd  upon. 
Now  there's  an  impassioned  swain  across  the  street 

Wlio  sees  such  beauty  in  his  Susan  Jane,  — 
A  dumpy  damsel  whom  I  often  meet, 

With  freckled  face,  red  curls,  and  speech  ungain, 
A"  charmed  the  painters  of  the  olden  lime, 

The  grand  old  masters  of  a  former  age. 
Inspiring  their  rare  iiencillings  sublime 

Till  the  mute  canvas  sjjokc;  —  and  I'll  engage 
He  dreams  of  angels  harping  heavenly  strains. 
Anil  every  angels  face  nnd  voice  is  Kusan  Janc'n ! 


A    BRACE    OF    SONNETS. 
II. 

Music  is  in  the  ear  of  him  who  hears, 

As  beauty  in  the  eyes  of  him  who  sees  ; 
I'll  wager  now,  no  "  music  of  the  spheres," 

No  concert  grand  of  nature's  harmonies. 
No  sound  of  distant  harp-notes  on  the  wind. 

No  organ's  loud  reverberating  swell. 
No  orchestra,  nor  voice  of  Jenny  Lind, 

Soundeth  to  Susan  Jane  one  half  so  well 
As  that  consumptive  fiddle,  which  he  keeps 

In  yonder  attic,  and  sometimes  o'nights 
Tlirums  to  her  window-blind,  and  sings — "  She  sleeps," 

With  an  ear-torturing  chorus,  that  affrights 
All  within  hearing.     Falsehood  joined  to  crime  ! 
He  knows  she's  wide  awake,  and  listening  all  the  time  ! 


167 


EVELYN. 

Stars   looked   softly   from    the    heaven,  —  fireflies    glim- 
mered in  the  grass, — 
Brightly  down  the  moonlit  river  did  the  golden  ripples  pass 
On  that  lovely  night  in  summer,  when  my  heart  to  yours, 
alas, 
Told  its  love-tale,  Evelvn  ! 


I   was  stem,  ambitious,  worldly,  —  nigged  as  a  nicmntain 

pine. 
You  were  fragile,  sweet   and  loving,  —  like  a    fond    and 

clinging  vine ;  — 
You  were  all  too  finely  moulded  for  a  nature  sueh  as  mine, — 
Time  has  proved  it,  Evelyn  ! 

As  a  rude  eliild   plurks  a  lily,  whose  sweet   life  h.ts  just 

begun, 
Crusliing  it  unkindly,  heedless  of  the  treasure  he  hius  won. 
Till  tlic  fragile   blossom  withers,  —  perishes  as  you  have 

done, 
Tlius  I  won  you,  Evelyn  ! 


It>8 


Ah,  there  never  shone  a  morning  half  so  lovely  and  divine 
As  the  one  which  saw  us  standing  at  the  altar's  sacred 

shrine, 
When  I  listened  half-enraptuied,  as  j-our  sweet  lips  uttered, 

"  Thine 
And  forever ! "  Evelyn ! 

(Jh,  it  seems  but  yester  morning  that  I  saw  you  standing 

there, 
While  your  pure  heart's  bashful  throbbings  shook  the  white 

buds  in  your  hair, 
And  amid  your  loose  curls  gleaming  rose  your  shoulders 

pale  and  fair,  — 
You  were  lovely,  Evelpi ! 

But  I   wronged  your  fond  affection  and  your  high  heart's 

holy  trust, — 
Left  your  heart,  a  harp  neglected,  till  its  strings  grew  dim 

with  rust,  — 
Brought   j'our  fair  head's   golden  tresses  down  in   sorrow 

to  the  dust, 
I  who  loved  you,  Evelyn ! 

Yes.  I  loved  you,  —  but  my  spirit  could  not  to  your  own 

aspire,  — 
Mine  was  of  the  world,  and  worldly;  —  yours,  a  gleam  of 

heavenly  fire ;  — 
I  gave  earthly  love  and  blessing,  —  but  you  longed  for 

something  higher. 
Which  I  had  not,  Evelyn  ! 


109 


Xovcr  on   vour  tcnrlcr  beauty  blew  a  bliu-:t   loo   cold   or 

riido,  — 
Yours  was  all  that   wealth  could  purcliiiiio,  —  yours  wjis 

every  earllily  good. 
Dainty  fare,  rich  pems  and  pirmenl-s,  —  but  your  spirit 

jjiiied  for  food, 
And  I  starved  it,  Kvelyn  ! 

I  remember  all  j'our  kindness,  all  your  patience  mild  and 

meek, 
I  low  a  word  or  look  unloving  brought  the  color  to  your 

check. 
But  you  never  chid  or  binacd  me,  though  ungently  I  might 

speak, — 
Dear,  forgiving  Evelyn ! 

.     in  the  sweet  October,  when  the  earth   wa-  paved 
with  gold, 
AVhcn  the  days  were  warm  and  ra^y,  and  the  nights  were 

chill  and  cold, 
A<  the  banner  of  the  sunset  was  above  the  hills  unrolled, 
That  you  left  me,  Evelyn ! 

Unseen  fpirits  circled  round   you,  singing   soft   serapliic 

psalms. 
Unseen  wings  about  you  waving,  fiuined  you   with  elysian 

balms, — 
I  was  vei*)'  near  to  heaven,  when  within  my  ehu-ping  arms. 
You  lay  dying,  Evelyn  ! 


170 


From  my  neck  your  arm  fell  slowly,  failing  from  its  light 

embrace,  — 
Drooped  your  sunny  lashes  softly,  —  faded  life's  last  rosy 

trace, — 
And  the   bright  waves   of  your  tresses  flowed   around  a 

still  pale  face,  — 
You  were  dead,  my  Evelyn  ! 

But  they  said  you  lived  with  angels,  —  darling,  did  they 

tell  me  true  ? 
Tell  me,  are  your  sister-angels  bright  and  beautiful  as  you  ? 
Do  they  love  you,  my  adored  one,  better  than  I  used  to  do  ? 
No,  tliey  can  not,  Evelyn  ! 

Does   the  memory  of  sorrow   reach  beyond   this  clouded 
sphere  ? 

Does  your  pure  heart  still  remember  all  the  pain  it  suf- 
fered here  ? 

Do  you  look  upon  me  kindly,  in  my  anguish   lone   and 
drear  ? 
Do  you  love  me,  Evelyn  ? 

Tell  me,  is  the  love  of  angels  like  the  love  which  mortals 

know  ? 
Do  you    tell  them  mournful  stories  of  your  earthly  long 

ago?  — 
Do  they  ever  bring  you  tidings  of  tlie  lone  one  left  below  ? — 
Do  they  call  you  "  Evelyn  ?  " 


171 


Though    vour   (ace  so   sweet  and   gentle   underncntli  ihi^ 

grass-blooms  lies. 
Silent,  lifeless,  unreproving, —  yet  your  spirit  never  dies, — 
Wheresoever  I  may  wander,  still  your  sad  rebuking  eyes 
Come  and  haunt  me,  P^vclyn  ! 

Ah,  a  dark  fate  is  upon  me,  since  I  wronged  your  gentle 

trust, — 
Life's   best  joys,  like  Dead  Sea  apple<.  on  my  lips  hav<^ 

turned  to  dust,  — 
Fearfully  are  you  avenged, —  but  my  puni.-hment  is  just, — 
I  have  earned  it,  Fivelyn  ! 

Yet   not  long  shall  be  our  parting ;  with  a  thrill   of  joy 

divine, 
I  recall  the  blest  assurance  which  your  dear  eyes  gave  to 

mine. 
On  that  happy  bridal  rooming  as  your  sweet  lips  uttered, 

"Thine, 
And  forever!  "  Evelyn  ! 


THE     AWAKENING. 

Cradled  soft  by  liis  snowy  wings, 

Ix)ve  l.iy  sleeping,  one  summer  day, 
Arrows  and  bows  were  forgotten  things, 

As  wrapped  in  his  blissful  dreams  he  lay,  — 
When  gentle  Merit  came  wandering  by, 

"With  drooping  lashes  and  humble  heart ;  — 
And  Love,  as  he  slumbered,  caught  her  eye,  — 

So,  brushing  the  curtaining  leaves  apart. 

She  kissed  his  fair  forehead  and  whispered  "  Rise ! 

Ileedest  thou,  Love,  who  is  calling  thee  ?  " 
But  Love  half-opened  his  drowsy  eyes, 

And  shook  his  white  shoulders  angrily, 
While  Merit,  with  sighs  and  a  saddened  look, 

Keclosed  the  branches  his  rest  above. 
And  wrote  in  her  heart's  tear-spotted  book,  — 

'  Merit  may  never  waken  Love  !  " 


THE    AWAKENING. 

Soon,  Rpfttily  cnmc,  witli  licr  form  of  pxacc. 

IUt  faiiltle--s  features  ajid  qufcnly  air, 
And  bending  over  the  voting  boy's  face. 

She  smiled  as  she  saw  him  sleeping  there  ; 
And  Love  sprang  up  from  liis  rosy  rest. 

And  shaking  his  wings  with  wild  deli;;lil. 
He  fondly  clasped  to  his  gladdened  breast 

The  radiant  maiden  who  cliarmed  iiis  sipht. 

But  Merit,  retired  from  Love  apart. 

While  to  hide  her  gushing  tears  she  strove. 
Had  seen,  with  an  almost  breaking  heart 

How  easily  Beauty  aw.nkened  Love, — 
And  she  turned  away,  with  the  hopeless  look 

So  Slid  to  see  in  the  eye  of  youth. 
And  wrote  in  her  heart's  half-opened  book. 

Tearfully,  sadly,  this  bitter  truth  :  — 

'  Alas,  with  Love  it  is  ever  so  — 

All  vainly  may  Afenl  shake  him. 
But  one  careless  glance  let  Bewity  throw. 
And  how  strangely  soon  't  will  w.okc  him ! " 


IN    VAIN. 

Heavily  the  winter  rain 
Plaslies  on  the  broken  pane,  — 
On  the  hearth  the  embers  die, 
And  the  niglit-wind,  fitfully 
Entering  at  the  shattered  door, 
Blows  the  ashes  round  the  floor, 
While  in  mortal  strife  with  pain 
Lies  she  who  has  lived  in  vain. 

She  was  fated.     As  a  ciiild 
No  fond  love  upon  her  smiled, 
For  the  hand  that  would  have  been 
Strong  to  shield  from  woe  and  sin, 
And  the  eyes  whose  loving  light 
Would  have  led  her  steps  aright, 
Since  her  birth  in  dust  have  lain,  — 
Therefore  hath  she  lived  in  vain. 
Harsh  reproof  and  unkind  words 
JjUTcd  her  spirit's  tender  chords,  — 


Angry  gliincc  and  llirciitoning  frown 
Diirkoned  cliiUlliood's  gladness  down, — 
Nothing  gentle,  kind  or  good 
Smiled  u[K)n  her  womanhood,  — 
Burdened  sore  were  heart  mid  brain,  — 
Is  it  strange  she  lived  in  vain  ? 

Love  came  with  his  angel  air. 
Breathing  vows  as  false  aa  fair,  — 
And  his  wreath  with  promise  rife 
Crowned  her  as  a  worshipped  wife, — 
But  the  heart  she  trusted  in 
Turned  aside  to  guilt  and  sin, 
Leaving  on  her  life  their  stain  — 
AVonder  not  she  lived  in  vain ! 

Grief  and  poverty  and  care 
Marred  her  faec,  once  young  and  fiiir,- 
Toil  and  want  and  sorrow's  storm 
Bowed  her  head  and  bent  her  form. 
And  her  heart,  a  hopeless  bark. 
Drifted  through  life's  tempest  dark, 
Till  at  last,  in  want  and  pain, 
Dies  she  who  has  lived  in  vain. 

No  one  cares  that  thus  the  dies ; 
No  fond  friend  with  tearful  eyes 
O'er  her  pillow  hovercth, 
Watching  her  uneven  breath, 


Holding  her  pale  purpling  hand, 
Counting  life's  last  wasting  sand. 
Mourn  her  reqniem,  wailing  rain  ! 
She  is  dead  who  lived  in  vain  ! 

Life  has  been  all  dark  and  chill, - 
Let  her  rest  be  dim  and  still ; 
Lay  her  in  a  shadowed  glade 
Where  no  sunbeam  ever  strayed, - 
Place,  mayhap,  a  simple  stone 
By  her  grave  so  sadly  lone,  — 
Trace  thereon  in  letters  plain, 
'  Here  she  lies  who  lived  in  vain ! ' 


STREET     MUSIC. 

M'-.TiioufliiT  a  swaot  sound  from  the  stn-cl  upio<o, — 

And  OA  I  p:«ise,  and  strive  again  to  hoar. 
••  St.  Patrick's  Day"  dniw.s  softly  to  its  olo^c 

And  ".lonhm's"  waves  flow  sweetly  to  my  oar. 
What  though  from   humble  source  the  chorus  float*? 

Music  i^  music,  and  I  listen  still ; 
I  have  ''.an  ear,"  —  ay,  tico!  —  Even  jc'ws-liar|i  nod's 

I'lU's  current  with   me,  hear  them  where  I  will, 
A  slight  Italian  boy,  with  jetty  hair 

.Sh.iding  dark  eyes,  grinds  out  the  melody, 
Pulverized  music!  —  In  his  garb  and  air 

I  read  of  sunnier  lands  beyond  llie  sea, 
And,  dreaming,  wander  to  a  fairer  clime. 
K  '.•alio  1,  t03  suJJ -nly,  by  —  "  //'  //'>«  ph'usi;  n  dime.' 


THE    APRIL    BREEZE. 

Soft  breeze,  witli  breath  so  cool  and  sweet, 
Herald  of  spring's  bright  gladsomeness, 

With  joy  I  lift  my  face  to  meet 

Once  more  thy  light  and  bashful  kiss. 

Earth's  unawakened  bosom  yields 

No  odor  to  perfume  thj'  wing. 
For  scarcely  o'er  the  snowy  fields, 

Has  breatlied  the  first  warm  sigh  of  Spring 

The  woods  are  lone  and  leafless  yet, 
No  blossom  sends  its  incense  up, 

Not  even  one  sweet  violet 

Has  dared  to  lift  its  azure  cup. 

Not  even  the  snow-drop  blossometh, 
Awakened  bj'  the  early  showers. 

Yet  something  in  thy  soft  rich  breath 
Speaks  sweetly  of  the  unborn  flowers. 


THE    APRIL    UBEEZF,. 

It  may  bo  that  tliy  li'll-tale  tono 

I'lvdiets  how  soon  tho  biiils  will  start. 

Or.  whispering  of  spring-times  gone, 
Kcoills  their  i'nigmnce  to  my  liearl. 

Welcome  thy  breath  so  soft  and  sweet, 
IleniUl  of  spring's  bright  glatlsomenoss  I 

With  joy  I  lid  my  face  to  meet 

Once  more  tliy  ligiit  and  bashful  kiss! 


PICTURES    OF    MEMORY. 

Among  the  beautiful  dresses 

Which  hang  on  the  wardrobe  wall, 
Tliere  is  one  of  simple  muslin 

Tiiat  seemeth  the  best  of  all ; 
Not  for  the  waist's  trim  fitting, 

Not  for  the  sleeves'  full  flow, 
Not  for  the  neat  little  figures 

Which  sprinkle  the  skirt  below, — 
Not  for  its  pretty  pattern 

Of  roses  under  a  hedge, 
Not  for  its  graceful  flounces 

With  nicely  embroidered  edge,  — 
Not  for  the  folds  on  the  boddicc 

Where  the  satin  buttons  rest, 
Nor  the  lace,  nor  the  bows  of  ribbon. 

It  seemeth  to  me  the  best. 


nCTl'RKS    OF    MKMOKV. 

I  once  had  a  darlinp  sisti-r 

Willi  I'VL'S  lli:»t  were  diirk  ami  deep. 
And  hers  whs  tliis  dress  of  muslin 

Wliieli  saerodly  now  I  keep. 
Li.!;Iit  :is  llie  down  lliat  danecs 

Where  the  dandelions  erow. 
We  TOved  throiijrh  our  happy  childhood. 

The  sumnici-s  of  lo;ig  ajro, 
Till  she  stood  at  tin;  marriage  altar 

On  one  of  the  autunm  eves, 
Iji  a  robe  of  emhroiilercd  !=atin 

With  very  extensive  sleeves. 

Sweetly  her  white  arms  folded 

My  neck  in  a  meek  end)race. 
As  the  snowy  veil  of  the  bridal 

Silently  covered  her  face. 
Oh,  my  hejirt  ha<  been  very  lonely. 

And  our  home  has  lost  its  light, 
Since  she  fell,  in  her  r^aint-like  beauty, 

In  love  with  that  college  wight  I 
Tlierefori!  of  all  the  drv-scs 

Thet  hang  on  the  wardrobe  wall. 
The  one  of  simple  muslin 

S.:enielh  the  best  of  all  I 


LOST    AND    SAVED. 

Dakkly  falls  the  stormy  even, 
Fiercely  frowns  the  angry  heaven, 
While  the  bitter  wind  is  calling, 
And  the  driving  sleet  is  foiling. 

Homeless,  parentless  and  lonely. 
Cared  for  by  the  angels  only, 
Roams  a  child,  unblcst  by  pity. 
Through  the  mazes  of  tlie  city. 

No  kind  father's  eye  beholds  her;  — 
No  fond  mother's  love  enfolds  her, 
And  when  evening  shadows  gather 
Teaches  her  to  say  "  Our  Father ! " 

Round  her  neck,  with  soft  caresses. 
Cling  her  wild  neglected  tresses,  — 
Hail  and  snow,  with  glittering  spangl 
Gemming  all  their  golden  tangles. 


LOST    AND    SAVKD. 

None  to  smoollio  tlioir  wavy  lieniity,  • 
None  to  guide  to  right  and  duly, — 
None  to  sliow  lur  worldly  favor. 
None  to  love,  and  none  to  save  Ik  r. 

liOst,  jKwr  friendless  child,  forever. 
Castaway  on  life's  wild  river, — 
Wst !  aniid  its  wild  commotion 
Uiishing  down  to  sin's  dark  ocean  ! 

Where  a  proud  and  stately  dwelling 
Is  of  wealth  and  splendor  telling. 
By  fatigue  and  sleep  o'ertakcn, 
.Sinks  at  last,  the  poor  forsaken. 

On  the  marble  stops  reclining. 
Pillowed  by  her  tresses  shining, 
AVith  the  snow  around  her  heaping, 
•Sinks  she  in  her  chilly  sleeping. 

Bright  the  eye  of  moniing  flashes, 
Beaming  from  il.s  jetly  lashes, — 
Still  with  weary  head  reclining 
Sleejvs  the  chilil  with  tresses  shining. 

O'er  her  form  the  snow  hath  drifted. 
And  among  her  loose  locks  sifted,  — 
.Silent  lies  she, —  while  and  frozen. 
On  the  bed  so  blindly  chosen. 


LOST    AND    SAVED. 

Saved!  from  wretchedness  and  error — 
Saved  from  guilt's  remorseful  terror,  — 
Saved  from  sorrow's  weary  wearing, — 
Saved  from  hopeless,  dark  despairing. 

'  Saved ! "  the  angel  band  are  saying,  — 
'  Saved  from  sinning  —  saved  from  straying 

Gladly  we  the  lost  lamb  gather 

To  the  bosom  of  our  Father ! " 


TO    ONE    INSPIRED. 

Tiior  of  tlio  snowy  lioart 

Piissionli'ss  —  cold,  — 
Though  my  licnrl's  love  to  thee 

Vninly  wns  toM, 
Now  for  a  lowlier  boon 

Humbly  it  bends  — 
Tliough  thou  canst  love  me  not 

Let  us  be  friends ! 

Thou  of  the  pure  while  brow 

Stainless  and  talni. 
Though  for  thy  heavenward  heart 

Earth  has  no  eharm, 
Still  the  fond  prayer  to  thee 

Wannly  ascends  — 
Though  thou  canst  love  ine  not 

Let  us  be  friends  ! 


TO    OXE    IXSriKED. 

Thou  of  the  lofty  soul 

Sinless  and  fair, 
Though  to  thy  love,  my  heart 

May  not  aspire, 
Prayers  for  thy  happiness 

Upward  it  sends,  — 
Ci-aving  but  one  sweet  boon,  — 

Let  us  be  friends  ! 


OVER    THE    WAV. 

Theisk's  a  cottnge  just  over  tlio  wav. 

Where,  whenever  my  eyes  I  am  raising. 
They  will  always  uneonsciously  stray. 

And  never  grow  weary  of  gazing. 
Such  gentleness,  sweetness  and  grace. 

Was  never  yet  equalled.  I'm  certain. 
As  shines  in  the  bcautil'id  face 

Revealed  l>y  that  wind-lifted  ciiriuin! 

Oh.  a  sea-nymph  might  safely  be  proud 

Of  tlic  tresses  that  forehead  adorning, — 
With  hue  like  a  golden-tinged  cloud 

Just  seen    in  the  dim  of  the  morning. 
Oh,  that  voice  by  a  seraph  w.is  given. 

And  tlint  laugh  has  a  musical  tinkle 
And  those  eyes  liuve  the  color  of  lieaven 

When  the  stars  are  beginning  to  (winkle  ! 


OVER    THE    WAY. 

And  then  such  a  gem  of  a  nose 

All  likeness  and  rivaliy  scorning, 
And  the  lips  like  the  heart  of  a  rose 

Blown  apart  by  the  first  breath  of  morning ! 
Oh.  that  cottage  just  over  the  street  1 

How  can  I  do  other  than  love  it  ? 
For  its  inmate  so  lovely  and  sweet 

'T  were  no  sin  for  an  angel  to  covet ! 

Such  beauty  !  it  dazzles  the  eye,  — 

Oh,  its  owner  is  fairer  than  Venus ! 
But  alas,  I  confess  with  a  sigh, 

Tliere's  more  than  that  curtain  between  us ! 
For  memory  comes  with  a  start,  — 

Ah.  too  long  has  its  power  been  parried,  — 
For  like  ice  to  ray  love-smitten  heart 

Comes  the  dread  recollection  —  she's  married/ 


r  E  r.  R  r  a  r  y  , 

I  i.ovK  Niw  Kiij.'l:\iiil'.-i  siimmcr-timcs ;  I  liolil 
Tliem  iloarer  far  than  lliose  of  sunnier  olini 

lliil  while  my  lingers  purple  with  the  cold, 
I  cnn'l  in  conseiencc,  pniifc  its  winter-times 

I  wateh  not  now  the  gentle  autumn  min. 

I  hear  no  more  its  soft  monotonous  song. 
I'.iit  silently  ujKtn  my  window  pane. 

riio  fro.-t  is  painting  pictures  all  night  long. 

.\  Felimary  morning;  —  pale  and  faint 

The  dawning  light  seems  frozen  in  the  sky. 

While  with  the  eiilm  endumncc  of  a  saint 
I  raise  my  window-curtain  shiveringly  — 

Kiii.se  it,  but  nil  in  vain,  —  the  envious  frost 
Forbids  my  gaze,  though  often  I  essay. 

Till  by  my  wnnn  re|>eate<l  breathings  cros.sed. 
I'art  of  the  fairy  broidery  melt.s  away. 


The  village  smokca  rise  through  the  keen  blue  :iir 
Trembling  and  faint,  as  seeming  half  afraid  ; 

I  envy  the  untroubled  sleepers  there 

Who  lie  and  doze  until  the  fires  are  made. 

I  know  't  is  late,  —  I  cannot  tell  the  hour,  — 

The  cold  has  stopped  the  clock,  and  hushed  its  chime, 

Potent  indeed  must  be  the  frost-king's  power 
To  palsy  thus  the  mighty  hands  of  time  ! 

Life's  waking  pulses  throb  more  audibly 

And  mingled  sounds  of  toil  and  bustle  swell.  — 

I  hear  the  greetings  of  the  passers-by. 

And  the  sharp  summons  of  the  breakfast-bell. 

The  day's  loud  strife  and  turmoil  is  begun  ; 

A  busy  crowd  flows  through  the  noisy  street,  — 
Horses  stand  shivering  with  their  blankets  on. 

And  crisp  snow  crackles  under  hurrying  feet. 

Children  are  hastening  school-ward,  brisk  and  ga}-, 
Young  laughing  girls,  and  boyhood  rude  and  boM, 

While  beauty  trips  along  the  sparkling  wn}-, 
Her  fair  cheek  reddened  by  the  biting  cold. 


The  day  has  gone  at  last,  brief,  blue  and  cold, 
And  evening  shivers  o'er  the  frozen  earth ;  — 

All  who  have  homes,  hie  to  their  sheltering  fold,  — 
Heaven  pity  those  who  have  no  home  or  hearth 


FElmU.VUY. 

The  fall  of  hoofs,  the  sound  of  hiu'ty  feof, 
ISei-ome  less  frequent  as  the  light  deolines; 

I  lio  wind  blows  bleakly  down  the  lonely  street, 
^Vherc  flickeringly  the  early  hunp-Iight  shines. 

N'o  longer  by  the  sunshine  gilded  o'er, 
The  village  walls  rise  cold  and  bleak  and  bare, 

The  cattle  shiver  at  the  stable  door. 
Their  nostrils  smoking  in  the  bitter  air. 

Thore  sounds  no  bird-song  from  the  forest  now, 
No  njusie  wakened  by  the  evening's  breath,  — 

Vo  murmuring  nistle  of  the  wind-stirred  bough. 
Hut  all  is  silent  as  the  sleep  of  death. 

AVintcr  has  laid  his  hand  on  Nature's  lip 
And  she  is  silent,  with  obedience  true, 

And  silently  the  new  moon's  silver  tip 

Comes  slanting  keenly  through  the  frosty  blue. 

The  weli'ome  dark  shuts  out  the  frigid  dearlh 
Of  the  while  landscape,  desolate  and  wild, 

Antl  night  folds  closely  round  the  weary  earth, 
Like  a  great  blanket  round  a  sleepy  child. 


TRUE    LOYE    CAN    PORGET. 

Has  death  or  change  in  its  course  bereft  you? 

Does  life  seem  worthless  and  dark  and  rain  ? 
You  may  say  that  one  you  have  loved  has  left  y 

But  not  that  you  never  shall  love  again  ! 

I  know  you  think  that  your  heart's  deep  feeling 
Can  never  waver,  nor  change,  nor  dim. 

That  no  new  charm  will  be  o'er  it  stealing. 
No  new  voice  warble  love's  angel  hymn  I 

A  pleasing  fable  is  "  love  undying," 
And  one  which  daily  is  proved  untrue. 

For  with  fallen  idols  around  us  lying 
We  seek  another,  and  love  anew ! 

"We  love  to  think,  when  our  best  and  dearest 
Are  buried,  our  hearts  are  buried  too, 

That  our  love,  which  life  has  proved  sinceres:. 
In  death's  deep  darkness  will  still  be  true.  — 


TItl  K    I.OVK    CAS     KOlJliKT. 

True,  though  iu  idol  is  cohlly  Iviiig 

UiuliT  the  gnive-sods,  boiionlh  our  tri"nd, 

Though  the  worshii)|)cd  lips  make  no  replying, 
And  the  heart  onee  loving,  lies  still  and  dead. 

We  love  to  think  we  shall  always  ehorisli 
The  thought  of  a  buried  form  and  face. 

For  't  is  hard  to  own  that  when  we  shall  perish. 
Some  other  idol  will  take  our  place! 

We  try  to  think  that  the  hearts  which  love  us. 
To  which  our  own  yield  a  sweet  return. 

Are  ste.idy  ami  true  as  the  stars  above  us. 

Which,  though  we  die,  will  not  cease  to  burn  ! 

Yd  when-fore  cherish  the  fond  believing? 

Cim  we  love  a  handful  of  lifeless  dust  ? 
And  our  weak  hearts,  "  above  all  deceiving," 

Can  they  always  cling  to  a  buried  trust? 

No!  the  heart  with  an  impulse  kindly  given, 
Craves  liring  love,  as  a  flower  the  sun. 

And  when  one  love  from  its  clasp  is  riven, 
It  $ftkt  niwther  and  still  loves  on  .' 


TOO    LATE. 

Have  you  seen  a  being  foir 
With  sad  eyes  and  golden  hair, 
And  a  more  than  mortal  grace 
Shining  through  her  pale  sweet  face : 

Have  you  seen  her  whom  I  seek  ? 
Hers  is  beauty  pure  and  meek, 
Such  as  charms  our  wildered  eyes 
In  our  dreams  of  Paradise. 

IJarcst  diamonds  alwaj-s  shine 
In  the  deepest,  darkest  mine, 
Fairest  blossoms  have  their  bird: 
On  the  dreariest  wastes  of  earth, — 

Thus  the  angel-presence  sweet 
Sent  to  guide  my  wayward  feet, 
Was  to  me,  in  love  and  light. 
As  the  star  is  to  the  nicrht. 


But  IIS  darkiifs.s  Iiidi's  I'mm  li.^lit, 
As  from  day  retreats  the  n!;;iit, 
So,  with  scornful  heart  the  while, 
Fled  I  from  her  loving  smile. 

She  wius  fair — ay,  verj-  fair, — 
(JoKlenly  her  shining  hair 
liound  the  pure  white  hrow  below 
Fell,  like  sunlight  over  snow,  — 

Or  like  that  soft  glow  that  lies 
Sometimes  in  the  sunset  skies, 
Or  the  glory  artists  paint 
Round  the  forehead  of  a  saint. 

Xot  the  summer  heaven's  clear  blue. 
Not  the  violet's  tender  hue. 
Nor  the  gloom  of  midnight  skies 
fan  describe  her  glorious  eyes. 

When  the  twilight  solemnly 
Walks  along  the  dreaming  sea, 
On  its  breast  a  shadow  lies 
Tinted  like  those  haunting  eyes. 

Yet  I  loved  her  not ;  my  soul 
Scorned  to  own  her  sweet  control. 
And  I  fled  o'er  land  and  sen. 
Only  that  she  followed  me  ! 


TOO    LATE. 

Over  ocean's  heaving  tides, 
Over  craggy  mountain  sides, 
Over  many  a  barren  waste 
Tliat  no  liuman  foot  had  traced,  — 

Wandered  I,  to  hide  away 
From  lier  soft  and  hoi}'  sway, 
Fearing  but  the  loving  smile 
In  her  pleading  eyes  the  while. 

My  hard  heart,  unknowing  then, 
Angels  walk  on  earth  with  men, 
Hated  her,  and  bitterly. 
Only  that  she  cared  for  me  ! 

And  I  shunned  her  all  above, 

Only  that  she  sought  my  love  ; 

Blind,  blind  eyes,  which  could  not  trace 

'  Angel "   in  that  pure  sweet  face  ! 

Every  morning  as  I  went 
Through  the  doorway  of  my  tent, 
She  went  sadly  on  the  way 
I  had  trodden  yesterday. 

One  briglit  morn,  as  I  uprose 
From  my  dream-disturbed  repose, 
Every  breeze  the  whisper  bore 
'  Go  !  I  follow  thee  no  more  ! " 


TOO    I.ATE. 

And  a  keen  rcmoi-seful  dart 
Picrcoil  ami  rent  my  start  li-d  licart. 
And  across  the  weary  wii^te 
Wildly  dill  my  footsteps  Liustc, 

Scareliiiig  where  her  tender  feet 
Torn  liy  nipjied  thorns,  had  heat, 
And  her  stained  footprints  lay 
Mule  rehnkes,  along  the  way;  — 

To  the  place  where  grief-oppressed, 
Weary  of  her  thankless  cpiest. 
She,  the  sli-rhled  one,  was  found 
Fainting,  dying,  on  the  giiiund. 

•  Thou  hast  come  too  late,"  she  said, 
As  I  raised  her  drooping  head,  — 
With  u  Hash  of  bright  surprise 
Breaking  from  her  misty  eyes. 

'■^  Waywanl  one,  I  need  not  tell 
I  have  sought  thee  long  and  well, 
Thy  stern  will  and  stuhboni  heart 
Bode  us  live  and  die  apart ! 

'*  Fare  thee  well !  I  go  before,  — 
I  shall  follow  thee  no  more ! 
This  shall  thy  life's  penance  be, — 
Henceforth  thou  shah  seek  for  me! 


TOO    LATE. 

'  Drain  the  cup  of  grief  and  tears 
Which  my  lips  have  pressed  for  years 
If  it  seemeth  bitter,  think 

'  Even  such  I  bade  her  drink ! '  " 

Cried  I,  kneeling,  —  "  Angel,  stay  ! 
Pass  not  from  my  tears  away ! 
Grant  me  pardon  for  the  wrong 
Thou  hast  meekly  borne  so  long  ! 

''  Let  my  life  atonement  be  — 
Henceforth  let  me  live  for  thee ! 
Let  my  love,  through  coming  time. 
"Wipe  away  my  darkening  crime !  " 

Gone !  — and  raised  in  sad  surprise. 
Did  not  my  dim-seeing  eyes 
Catch  the  shining  of  her  hair 
Fading  in  the  upper  air  ? 

Henceforth  in  a  fruitless  quest, 
Tortured  by  a  wild  unrest, 
Like  a  pilgi-im  old  and  blind 
Seek  I  what  I  may  not  find. 

Often,  as  I  pass  along. 
Ask  I  of  the  busy  throng, 
'  Has  an  angel  passed  this  way  ?  " 
And  they  answer,  smiling,  —  "  Nay  I " 


TOO    LATK. 

But  with  sad  anil  tearful  eyes 
Looking  upwaixl  to  the  skies. 
See  I  yet  lier  sliining  hair 
Mingling  witli  the  upper  air. 

Anil  when  life's  long  search  is  o'er 
I  shall  meet  her  yet  once  more, 
AViih  a  tiirill  of  glad  surprise 
Breaking  from  her  glorious  eyes  ! 


DESTINED. 

I  LEAVE  my  wreath  half-t willed  ;  —  its  blossoms  lie 
Unbouiid  and  withering,  in  the  wayside  dust, 

Crushed  by  the  rude  feet  of  the  passers  by,  — 
And  gird  me  to  fuHil  a  loftier  trust. 

I  leave  my  Eden,  —  my  ench;uited  land,  — 

The  pleasant  ways  which  I  have  loved  to  tread. 

And  kneel  while  Duty's  stern  untrembling  hand 
places  her  thorny  crown  upon  my  head. 

I  leave  my  early  hopes,  my  morning  dreams, 

!My  high  aspirings,  all,  all  unfulfilled. 
And  follow  Destiny's  far  guiding  beams. 

With  tearless  eyes,  and  steady  heart  uncliilled. 

I  leave  thy  grave,  oh,  best  beloved  one  ! 

The  home  to  which  my  heart  turns  yearnincly  ;  — 
The  hope  so  long  and  fondly  nursed  is  done, 

I  sliall  not  claim  the  vacant  place  by  thee ! 


Ami  yet  I  leave  thee  not;  —  thou  art  not  deuJ 
To  ine,  although  thou  slecpost  eolil  an<l  low,  — 

Thy  love  illumes  the  rugged  way  I  tread, 

And  thy  dear  voiee  hath  softly  bid  me,  —  "  tJo  !  " 

For  thou  art  always  with  me  ;  though  unseen, 
I  feel  thy  presence  ever,  —  trustingly 

On  thee,  in  weakness  and  in  woe  I  lean. 

Hearing  the  sweet  words  —  ••  1  am  still  with  thee 

I  turn  my  lips  from  Ix)ve's  detaining  kiss. 

I  break  the  grasp  of  Friendship's  clasping  hand. 
And  jdeading  wortls,  and  tones  of  tenderness 

Fall  on  ray  ear  like  rain  on  desert-sand. 

I  say  no  farewell  word,  —  I  drop  no  tear, — 
I  tremble  not,  w  hatever  doom  may  wait 

Upon  my  future  ; —  I  but  breathe  one  prayer. 
Ami  go  forth  quietly  to  meet  my  fate. 


202 


THE    DESERT    FOUNT  A IX. 

DisTAJiT  lies  a  torrid  desert,  vhere  the  sunbeams  ever 

glow, 
AVhcre  the  red  air  hotly  trembles,  and  the  deadly  simooms 

blow, 
And  long  troops  of  men  and  camels  wander  wearily  and 

slow. 

•Just  beside  the  scorching  pathway,  trod  by  many  a  wearj- 

band. 
Lies  a  fertile  gi'een  oasis,  beautiful  as  fairy-land, 
Rising  like  an  isle  enchanted,  from  the  desert  sea  of  sand. 

There  a  crystal  fountain  gushes  purely  from  its  mossy  bed. 
There  the  soft  grass,  springing  fi-eshly,  is  with  fragrant 

blossoms  spread. 
And  rich  fruits  hang  ripe  and  heavy,  from  the  branches 

overhead 


THE    DKSKKT     FOCNTAIN.  20;i 

Many  a  wciiry  way-worn  pilgiim,  toiliiij;  slowly  on  his  way. 
Hearing  far  the  Coiiniain's  tinkle,  as  it  leaps  in  joyous  play. 
Turns  aside  to  Isistc  its  coolness,  tarrying  till  another  Jay. 

Gnitetiilly  he  quafl's  the  freshness  of  the  ripples  at  his  feet. 
(ilatUy    plueks    the    fruits    ilepeniling    where    the    laden 

branches  meet. 
Then   reclines,  refreshed  and   strengthened,  in   u  slumber 

deep  and  sweet. 

litit   though  clo.se  beside  the   pathway  lies  the  cool  and 

sylvan  grot. 
Tiionsiinds,  tnivel-worn  .and  ilrcoping,  daily  pass  the  pleas- 

lUlt  S|>Ol, 

Heeding   not    the    fountain's    n\urnuir, —  seeing    not    and 
hearing  not. 

Thus   on    life's   wide  cheerless   desert,  stretching  far  on 

every  hand, 
(lushes  love's  pure  holy   fountain,  foretaste  of  a  hajipier 

land. 
Sending  forth  its  blessed  music  fiir  across  the  desert  sand. 

Many   a    fainting,   heart-sick    wanderer,   toiling    wearily 

along. 
Hears  its  gentle  invitation,  and  forgets  all  grief  and  wron^-. 
In  the  joy  of  its  refreshing,  and  the  music  of  its  song. 


204  THE     DESERT    FOUNTAIK. 

But  though  ever  sounds  its  singing,  loud  and  silver-toned 

and  clear, 
Like  an  angel's  voice  of  ivelcome  to  the  wanderers  passing 

near, 
Yet  it  falls,  unheard,  unheeded,  on  full  many  a  careless  ear. 

Turn  aside,  oh,  wear}-  pilgrim,  with  slow  step  and  tearful 

eye. 
Rest  thee  by  the  gushing  waters,  till  the  burning  Lours 

go  by,— 
Turn  aside  and  taste  the  blessing,  ere  the  holy  fount  be  dry! 


TO    ONE    DYING. 

I  KNOW  thou  art  dying ;  thy  check  is  briglif 
With  the  rosy  hue  of  life's  sunset  ray, 

And  in  thine  eyes  unearthly  light 
I  sec  the  dawn  of  immorttU  day. 

I  know  thou  art  dying ;  —  it  seems  to  me 
Thy  face  is  an  angel's,  even  now, 

And  gazing  on  thee,  I  almost  sec 
A  glory  gathering  about  thy  brow. 

I  know  thou  art  dying ;  thy  hand's  light  cliu-p 
Grows  more  uncertain  from  day  to  day, 

And  when  it  falls  from  my  longing  grasp, 
Thy  feet  will  walk  in  the  shining  way. 

I  know  it  all ;  —  but  no  tcar-«lrops  start, — 
My  heart  boats  calmly  and  joyfully. 

For  I  know  the  summons  which  bids  us  part. 
Will  only  bring  thee  more  near  to  mc  ! 


TO    ONE   DYIXG. 

The  fervent  love  which  my  bosom  wai-ms 
Has  not  been  suffered  to  gladden  thine, 

For  men's  traditions  and  empty  forms 
Have  hedged  thy  spirit  away  from  mine,  — 

Another  has  pillowed  thy  glorious  head, 
Another  has  watched  thy  rest  above, 

Has  lived  in  the  light  thy  presence  shed, 
While  only  I  was  thy  spirit-love. 

And  now,  when  clearly  thy  cloudless  eyes 
Are  gazing  farther  than  mine  may  see, 

And  earthly  fetters  and  earthly  ties 
Ai-e  slov.ly  falling  away  from  thee,  — 

I  joy  to  know  that  thy  life  of  pain. 
Thy  term  of  bondage  is  nearly  flown, 

That  death  will  sever  thy  galling  chain. 

And  make  thee  wholly  mine  own  —  mine  oin 

Tlic  burdens  and  crosses  which  earth  lays  on 
"Will  vanish  at  death's  releasing  touch, 

And  thou  who  always  since  life  begun 

Hast  wept  mid  sorrowed  and  suflered  much, 

AVilt  rise  from  the  fetters  which  bind  thee  here 
As  a  freed  bird  flies  from  captivity, 

And  come  unfearing,  to  bless  and  cheer 
The  heart  that  has  waited  so  long  for  thee. 


TKLTn    AND    POETRY. 

In  that  oxi.-tonco,  thy  piitii'iit  love 

Will  brciik  the  shncklc:)  it  wcoxs  in  this. 

Anil  I  sliuU  led  from  the  sphere  above 
Beloved,  thv  tirst  hetrothal  kiss  ! 


TRUTH    AND    POETRY. 

Stuaxoe  Truth  and  Poetry  are  enemies. 

Treading  forever  on  caeh  other's  toes ! 
Stnuige  rhymes  arc  always  made  of  that  which  is 

Too  false  or  silly  to  be  faid  in  ])rose ! 
Now  here's  a  sonnet  by  our  village  jwet 

"  Inscribed  to  Kate,"  in  most  romantic  style, 
Whereas,  —  and  one  with  half  an  eye  might  know  ii,- 

lie  means  Sophronia  Tompkins,  all  the  while, 
lie  sings  of  ••goUlen  curls."    If  fiery  tresses 

Had  heat  to  match  their  hue,  her  hair  would  bum  ;■ 
Me  mentions  "air)-  grace,"  —  while  she  jiossesscs 

A  form  as  shapeless  as  an  old-time  chum. 
Heavens  !   after  this  I  never  shall  iiupiire 
Why  people  always  call  the  poet's  song  a  lvhe  ! 


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